Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

This will be a gentle story, containing minimum angst and maximum love -- and is independent from any other ‘universe’ I’ve written. The original versions of Chapters 1 and 2 were inspired by challenges previously posted to the Waymeet community on Livejournal.

DISCLAIMER: Professor Tolkien’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

“It *is* difficult to keep awake here, until you get used to it,” said Bilbo. ‘Many Meetings,’ The Fellowship of the Ring

Frodo sighed peacefully as the wisps of dream faded and released him. He slowly opened his eyes. Bilbo sat by his bedside in a comfortable, hobbit-sized chair, and Gandalf stood just behind him. Both had gentle, happy looks on their faces.

Frodo sat up slowly, trying to get his bearings. “Hullo, Bilbo. You...” He stared in amazement. “Why, you look eleventy-one again!”

“There certainly is,” Gandalf agreed. He sat on the bed and took Frodo’s hand. “How do you feel, dear boy?”

“I feel wonderful.” Frodo took a deep breath as the last of the cobwebs cleared from his mind. “I remember leaving the ship, and greeting Lady Celebrían, but... not much else. How long have I been asleep?”

“A few days... weeks, maybe...” Bilbo looked uncertain. “It’s worse than Rivendell, isn’t it?” He turned to Gandalf. “How long have we been here?”

“You will find that ’how long’ no longer matters as much as it did in Middle-earth,” Gandalf replied. “We were uncertain how the transition would affect you, and indeed, some wondered whether you and Frodo would wake at all. But Irmo and Estë sent healing dreams, and slowly your bodies and spirits grew accustomed to the more gentle flow of time here on Tol Eressëa.”

“Tol Eressëa,” Frodo murmured. He smiled as a great joy filled him, then stretched and looked around the small, beautifully-furnished room. “Is this home? Is there a kitchen, by chance?”

“Indeed there is!” Gandalf laughed, a sound like the pealing of bells that Frodo had heard all too seldom in recent years. “And you will find garments awaiting you, many prepared by Celebrían herself. You will see where Lady Arwen learned her skills.” He indicated a nearby wardrobe and several chests -- both as intricately carved as the chair in which Bilbo sat – containing hobbit-sized clothing woven of soft fabrics and gentle colors.

“Hurry and dress, my lad,” Bilbo said, as Gandalf took his leave. “I’ll show you around, then we will prepare a feast fit for a Baggins. It is many years since the two of us cooked together, is it not?”

“Oh Bilbo,” Frodo sighed. He took deep lungfuls of the fragrant air. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“And you should know that there are more than garments and a meal awaiting you,” Bilbo smiled mysteriously. “But perhaps I will save any further surprises until later.”

“Still keeping secrets?” Frodo smiled happily. “You haven’t changed in that regard, have you?”

“Goodness, I should hope not!” Bilbo snorted. “What good is life without a bit of mystery and adventure?”

Frodo and Bilbo lingered over luncheon (if that’s what it was) talking fondly about what had been, and wonderingly over what might yet be. When they at last rose from the table of their bright and airy kitchen, Frodo realized that it was, indeed, nearly impossible to count time in this magical realm. Had one hour passed, or many? He wondered how long it would take him to cease thinking about the passage of time altogether.

They went outside, and while Bilbo wandered about one of the many gardens, humming a tune, Frodo turned a corner of their new home and happened to look up. He gasped, utterly dumbstruck.

He had never given much thought to what an island in the Blessed Realm might actually look like, vaguely assuming that anything named “the Lonely Isle” was probably rocky, small, and rather isolated. But this...

“It’s really quite breathtaking, isn’t it?” Bilbo asked, coming to his side. Frodo nodded, still speechless.

The hobbits’ cozy home was cunningly built into a terraced hill, above a forested glade with a sparkling stream flowing merrily through the trees. It afforded a spectacular view of the northeast coast. Sweeping before them, as far as the eye could see, were white shores, grand peaks, and magnificent forests. The air smelled of flowers, and the Sea sparkled and danced with colors Frodo couldn’t even begin to name. Small islands they had seen from the ship dotted the horizon. Everything seemed fresh and sharp, as if newly painted.

“Tol Eressëa is larger than the Shire, or so they tell me,” Bilbo said quietly. “What do you think of the place?”

“Gorgeous,” Frodo breathed. “How I long to explore everywhere. It will take years.”

“And that,” Bilbo said with a smile, “brings us back to your surprise. Are you ready?”

“I suppose so,” Frodo said, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the view. “Why do you sound as if you’ve been awake and planning things for days?”

”Because I have been.” Bilbo began to lead Frodo toward the nearest settlement of homes, about a mile away. “Elrond thinks that my long residence in Rivendell prepared me somewhat for the ‘transition’, as they call it. It took you a bit longer to adjust, my lad, that’s all.”

“I promise,” Bilbo said, wrapping his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. “My dear lad.”

Galadriel greeted her guests. “Good afternoon, Bilbo. Frodo, I am overjoyed to see you so recovered.”

Frodo bowed deeply. “I am grateful to be here.” He looked up at the simple dwelling. “Is this your home?”

“It is.” Galadriel was dressed in a plain gown, and looked most unlike the proud Queen of Lórien. “I am content.”

"Many Elves make this island their home," Galadriel said. "My friends, do not be dismayed if you at first are approached by only a few of your neighbors. Your arrival is confusing to those who are unfamiliar with -- or wary of -- the Secondborn."

“What further gift could I possibly receive, in such a place?” Frodo asked curiously.

“Come,” Galadriel said, leading the hobbits toward a large meadow. “You need not accept her company, Frodo, but I hope you will give her a chance.”

“Frodo...” Galadriel stopped, and sat for a moment in the grass. “Do you know the story of Huan?”

Frodo nodded. “He was a mighty dog, born in Valinor. He travelled to Middle-earth with Celegorm – your... cousin?”

“Huan saved Lúthien and Beren from many perils, and died after performing great deeds. He could speak, but only a few times.”

“That is correct,” Galadriel said softly. “The hounds of Oromë the Hunter are magnificent animals -- intelligent, courageous, and loyal.”

“Indeed there were. And there are still.” Galadriel stood up and faced the meadow, calling out in a high, sweetly-pitched voice. From afar, Frodo saw what appeared to be a small horse galloping toward them. Only when it grew closer did he realize that he was seeing a dog -- a larger dog than he had ever imagined, sleek and wild looking, with fur the color of ripe wheat.

The dog stopped its eager approach a few yards from where Frodo and Bilbo stood. She looked at Frodo with what could only be described as an adoring gaze.

“She will only come closer when you are ready, Frodo,” Bilbo said, facing his astonished cousin. “She is yours, if you wish it.”

“She looks a bit intimidating, I agree,” Bilbo laughed, “but is gentle as a lamb. And you’ll find that she already loves you dearly.”

“We have brought her to visit while you slept,” Galadriel explained. “She sees your spirit, Frodo – your fëa – as all perceptive creatures may, and has already bonded with you quite strongly. She wishes to remain with you while you dwell amongst us.”

“The hounds of Valinor, a few of which dwell here on the island, choose their own masters. They do not speak in words, as Huan did, but I do not believe you will have any difficulty understanding one another. This one has chosen you, Frodo, of her own free will. She will not harm you, nor allow harm to come to you. She will journey with you, teach you much, and, I believe, enrich your new life in many ways.”

Frodo took a few hesitant steps forward, not entirely sure the enormous hound before them wouldn’t suddenly leap forward and gobble him up. Farmer Maggot’s long-ago words echoed in his memory... “See lads, next time this young varmint sets foot on my land, you can eat him.”

Frodo took a deep breath and kept walking, stopping a few feet from the huge dog. She slowly sat, then lay down, never taking her eyes from Frodo’s. The intelligence in those eyes held him captive, and he ventured a bit closer. The dog scooted forward by inches until she was lying at Frodo’s feet.

“A dog,” Frodo marveled. “She’s very different than those I have known before. So quiet and--”

He stopped, puzzled, as the dog, still lying on her haunches, turned herself, presenting her left side to Frodo.

“You may ride her, if you wish,” Galadriel informed the astounded hobbit. “She honors you greatly by allowing this, Frodo; I doubt she will let anyone else on her back – even Bilbo – unless there is great need.”

“Oh,” Frodo whispered. He reached forward hesitantly and touched the hound for the first time. The dog’s great tail wagged happily, but she made no other sudden movements. Emboldened, Frodo petted and scratched the soft, thick fur, and was surprised to find himself smiling. Vague images came to him of running with a gold-colored dog, riding, adventuring... Had his long sleep included dreams of this dog? Is that why he felt so suddenly at ease, this gentle creature growing more familiar by the moment?

“I saw you,” Frodo whispered to the dog, whose tail began to thump more vigorously at his words. As if in a dream still, he carefully seated himself astride the massive dog, who rose slowly to her feet. Frodo found himself even higher off the ground than when he rode a Shire pony. He sank his small hands into fur almost as thick as sheep’s wool, finding it easy to hold on. He felt a thrill of fear and excitement as the dog began to walk slowly, then quicken her pace a bit, trotting in a wide circle.

Unbidden, Frodo’s mind filled with the vistas awaiting exploration on this island. The peaks and valleys and sparkling shores... When standing with Bilbo earlier, he had thought wistfully that it would be marvelous to have a pony, and travel swiftly through such a landscape. Now...

“Perhaps Mellon. Do you like that, girl?” Without breaking her stride, the dog turned to look back at her rider, her eyes sparkling. She began to trot faster, her strong muscles bunching and relaxing as she loped around the meadow.

Galadriel lay a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder as Frodo’s laughter and joyous whoops echoed across the meadow.

Bilbo’s heart swelled with joy. He had fervently hoped that Frodo would accept the companionship of what he had come to realize was a very intelligent and loyal animal. He, Bilbo, did not know how much time he still had to live, and his boy would need a loving friend to see him through whatever lay ahead.

“Everything will be fine now, my lad,” the old hobbit whispered in satisfaction. “You’re going to be all right.”

Then he heard a noise in the distance. At first he thought it was a great wind coming over the leaves of the forest. Then he knew that it was not leaves, but the sound of the Sea far-off; a sound he had never heard in waking life, though it had often troubled his dreams. ‘A Conspiracy Unmasked’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Frodo wondered why Bilbo hadn’t also been gifted with a dog; however, in those first days on Tol Eressëa, he began to understand that Bilbo’s days of “adventuring” were apparently at an end. As in Rivendell, Bilbo seemed perfectly content to sit and think, compose poetry, or putter about in the kitchen or the gardens. In addition, the thought of meeting firsthand many of the folk of legend about whom he had only read or heard in tales had given Bilbo a whole new source of inspiration. Frodo was grateful beyond words that Bilbo’s time in this beautiful place would be joyous and creative. He and Bilbo met in the kitchen most mornings to breakfast together, then usually went their separate ways until supper.

Frodo had not realized, until awakening on the island, how many years it had truly been since he had felt safe and at peace. From the day Bilbo left the Shire and he became Master of Bag End, the Ring had been part of his consciousness -- even if he had not always been aware of it. And then the Quest had broken him down until there was almost nothing left from which to rebuild, until he finally had sought the only healing journey open to him. Here, in this place, he felt a renewed energy, sense of adventure, and curiosity.

Today, he and Mellon travelled down to the shoreline for the first time, and Frodo was astounded to discover tiny gems and crystals sparkling here and there on the soft, clean sand. He spread the blanket and opened their picnic basket, sharing luncheon with the dog. After a long nap in the sun, he awoke to Mellon gently pawing his arm.

“I’m not ready yet,” Frodo said softly to the dog. “You go ahead.” It had not taken long for him to speak to the intelligent animal as he would anyone else. He watched as Mellon ran into the surf, snapping at the waves and running with delight along the shore. Gazing thoughtfully at the water, Frodo absently fingered a few of the glittering crystals he had gathered.

“Long ago, the Elves scattered gems of Valinor here,” came a soft voice from behind him. “They wished the land to reflect Varda’s stars as easily as does the Sea.”

“Good afternoon, my friend,” Gandalf said, settling himself on the blanket. “Do you not wish to join Mellon in the water?”

“I do, but...” Frodo hesitated. “Gandalf, I have been meaning to ask... is there truly someone out there?”

“Ulmo is Lord of the waters. Does he live there? Is he down below somewhere, sitting and watching everything?”

“Not precisely,” Gandalf chuckled. He lay a gentle hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “Do you know that my hand is touching your shoulder?”

“And the wind... Do you feel that on your face? And hear the gulls, and the waves crashing to shore? Do you smell the freshness of the Sea, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin?” Frodo nodded. “As you sit here, Frodo, you are aware of many things outside your own body. Your senses bring you sounds, images, smells, touch, fragrances... You can also sense the emotions and thoughts of those dear to you, and communicate in many ways not always dependent upon words. Thus it is with Ulmo.” Gandalf thought for a moment. “His presence is vast, and his senses far reaching. All that occurs within and around the waters – the Sea, lakes, rivers, the smallest spring or fountain – are known to him. He is attuned to the pulse of Arda through its waters, using his senses -- much as you do.”

“Frodo, the Valar care deeply for you, else you and Bilbo would not have been permitted to traverse the Straight Road and dwell here. Manwë himself put aside the ancient ban, and did not Irmo and Estë ease your transition?”

“Do you remember what Lady Arwen said to you? She foretold that here, all your wounds and weariness would be healed.”

“I remember,” Frodo said quietly, “although I have been wondering how that might occur.” He watched Mellon frolic in the surf. “One old wound has already been healed. To think that I would ever come to love and trust a dog...” He shook his head in amazement.

“I do not wish to be afraid any longer, Gandalf,” Frodo said fervently. "I have not truly enjoyed swimming since I was a small child. Whenever I am underwater, I think of my parents, and how they died.”

"The moment you – or anyone – enter or honor his waters, Lord Ulmo is aware of it. But it is not he to whom you need look for help in this matter, should you need it." Gandalf gazed steadily at Frodo. “You may be ready to confront this fear; why not let your new guardian and friend bring you to the next level of healing?”

“As Galadriel told you, Mellon will allow no harm to come to you. If you were in distress in the water, do you not think she would come to your aid?”

“At each stage of your journey, Frodo, help will be available; the choice is always yours whether or not to take it. Your road has been long, and your burdens heavy... but you have not been without aid, or love along the way.”

Frodo nodded slowly. “When I needed a home and future, Bilbo took me in. Aragorn was there for us in Bree, and at Weathertop. Tom Bombadil, Lord Elrond, Faramir... Sam...” His eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Even now...”

“Even now." Gandalf smiled and got to his feet, then continued on down the beach.

Frodo sat for awhile after Gandalf had gone, thinking about everything his friend had said. The next level... For the first time, he began to realize the path his healing would take here in the West. It would be a process, one step at a time. He would heal at the pace he, himself, chose, and would not be alone. The long, gentle years he would spend here spread before Frodo in a new way, brighter and more far-reaching than he had imagined. He would be whole – every dark place in his heart, mind, and spirit whole and truly healed... and the process had already begun.

With a whoop of joy, he leaped to his feet and called to Mellon, who came bounding to his side, shaking water from her coat.

“Silly thing,” Frodo laughed, reaching up to give the dog a hug. “You always greet Gandalf when he comes to see us, but not this time. Did you...” He stared at the dog suddenly. “Did you know he and I needed to talk, and deliberately stay away?” Mellon almost seemed to be grinning, her tail wagging furiously. “You understand, don’t you?” Frodo asked, stroking the dog’s thick fur. He gazed at the sparkling water, and Mellon turned to look, as well, her gaze peaceful and appreciative.

“Next time we come,” Frodo whispered to the Sea, and to himself, “I’ll be ready.” He gathered up the blanket and picnic basket. “Let’s head home, girl," he said to Mellon. "The sun is beginning to set, and Bilbo will be waiting.”

Mellon lay down, and Frodo set the light blanket over the dog’s back. Balancing the basket in front of him, he sat astride the enormous dog, who rose to her feet.

“I need a bath,” Frodo grinned, shaking the sand from his hair. “And I’ll give you a good brushing tonight, while we watch the stars.”

Mellon began to walk slowly. It would be fun to go faster, Frodo thought, wondering how keen the dog’s senses truly were. To his delight, Mellon -- either in response to his friend’s wish for speed, or her own -- began to trot briskly along the white shore.

As they travelled, Frodo let fall the sparkling gems, one by one -- returning them to the sand. He was unaware of the small gathering of Elves, watching quietly from the bluff overlooking the beach.

Special thanks and hugs for Claudia, for helping me work through a crucial plot-point in this chapter.

Yavanna spoke before the Valar saying: “The Light of the Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the Silmarils of Fëanor. Foresighted was he! Even for those who are mightiest under Ilúvatar there is some work that they may accomplish once, and once only. The Light of the Trees I brought into being, and within Eä I can do so never again. Yet had I but a little of that light I could recall life to the Trees, ere their roots decay; and then our hurt should be healed, and the malice of Melkor be confounded.” ‘Of the Flight of the Noldor’, The Silmarillion

Frodo leaned back comfortably against Mellon. The glade below the hobbits’ home, where he, Bilbo, Galadriel, and Gandalf were chatting and picnicking, was one of the most peaceful places he had ever known. Fragrant blossoms dotted the grass, as well as the massive trees encircling them. He gazed up at a low branch, watching a spider climb a slender thread.

“Not a hint of it, Lady,” Frodo replied. “Although my memories of Cirith Ungol are not entirely clear, I don’t believe I ever saw her fully. I only learned later that it was a spider; there were just eyes in the darkness, and the presence of something truly evil. It was Sam who fought and wounded her.”

“Well then,” Gandalf chuckled, “there is one less fear to be concerned with. But physically...” He peered thoughtfully at Frodo. “The effects of her wounding remain.”

“Yes,” Frodo agreed. “I don’t know why I feel so empty and lost on the anniversary of that day. I scarcely knew what day it was, when Sam and I entered her lair. She might have infused a measure of darkness into me similar to that done by the Nazgûl’s enspelled blade.”

“I don’t know why we’re sitting here talking about fears and illnesses,” Bilbo said grumpily, leaning back against the tree. “I’ve never seen my lad happier.”

“I am happy, Bilbo,” Frodo assured his beloved uncle. “I know this conversation upsets you, but I wish to know what I can expect. Lady Arwen said ‘wounds and weariness’ would be healed, and she is the daughter of Lord Elrond – gifted, as he, with foresight and great wisdom; as you are, Lady,” he smiled at Galadriel. “I’m already feeling so much better since we arrived. My sleep and dreams are so restful.”

“And you have grown quite fond of this noble beast,” Bilbo chuckled, patting Mellon.

“That is true,” Frodo grinned. “If I have learned to love dogs, I now believe that anything is possible.” Mellon’s tail thumped slightly, and the great animal looked very pleased.

“Perhaps we can--” Galadriel began, then looked up, her face wreathed in a smile. Mellon began wagging her tail in earnest. Following the direction of their gaze, Frodo saw a beautiful Elf woman approaching them. Galadriel ran to greet their visitor.

Frodo gazed in awe. He had seen Galadriel’s mother only briefly, when she greeted her daughter upon their arrival. However, his long, healing sleep had begun soon thereafter, and there had been little chance to greet anyone properly himself. She seemed ageless to his eyes, with hair as radiantly golden as her daughter’s. She was barefoot, and wore a pale blue gown embroidered with silver swans.

“Lady Eärwen,” Bilbo said happily, “it is an honor to see you again.” He fairly bounced with excitement, thrilled to be in the presence of such an ancient and noble Elf.

“Hello, Master Baggins,” Eärwen said in a low, musical voice. Her Westron was heavily accented, but understandable. She turned her radiant gaze on Frodo. “Ringbearer, I have been remiss in not welcoming you to our shores.”

“On the contrary, it is we who--” Eärwen looked somewhat embarrassed. “May we speak, Ringbearer? There is something I wish to ask you.”

“Of course,” Frodo said. “And please, call me Frodo.” Everyone sat, and Eärwen smiled at the enormous hound.

“She has chosen,” Galadriel explained. “Frodo named her ‘Mellon’.” She talked about the dog and her devotion to Frodo, giving Eärwen time to feel comfortable. She suspected it had been a very long time since her mother had spoken with mortals.

Gandalf and Galadriel exchanged glances, pleased that the wife of Finarfin had come to meet Frodo; indeed, they had ensured that rumor of a certain conversation reached the ears of the Elves, although they knew not who would come to investigate the truth of it.

“Frodo,” Eärwen said at last, “word has reached our people that you made an offer to Olórin. I wished to meet you, and hear more about it.”

“What you heard is true,” Gandalf said, before Frodo could speak. “As you may have been told, your daughter captured in a crystal phial the light of the Silmaril that Eärendil wears, and gifted it to Frodo to use in his quest to bring Sauron’s Ring to its destruction.”

“The phial is one of the very few possessions Frodo brought with him.” Galadriel took up the tale. “This is the first time since Eärendil walked the shores of Aman that even the smallest essence of one of Feänor’s jewels has come to the West.” She smiled at Frodo. “On our journey here, Frodo learned more of the Trees, and what befell them at the hands of Morgoth and his fell servant, Ungoliant. Soon after awakening, he selflessly offered up the phial -- hoping it would be of service.”

“I thought...” Frodo stammered. “When I heard the tales, it occurred to me that someone could use the phial -- perhaps break it open -- to rekindle the Trees. I thought it was something I could do, to show my gratitude for Bilbo and myself being allowed to dwell here.”

“Frodo,” Eärwen said, “very few learn to give freely that which they treasure.”

“He and Bilbo have both done so,” Gandalf said. “Bilbo, with great strength of will, relinquished Sauron’s Ring and left it in Frodo’s keeping. Frodo then carried the Ring back to the place of its own making, to destroy it. And now he is here, having carried the light of Fëanor’s gem back to its home -- only to offer it back to the Elves of the West.”

“But I failed in both attempts,” Frodo said, hanging his head. “I was unable to destroy the Ring on my own, and it is too late to restore the Trees.”

“It is your intention that we honor, Frodo,” Eärwen said softly. “You have done more than anyone ever has, to bring the Silmarilli back to Valinor. Even Eärendil, when he walked the Western shores with the gem itself, did not return it to the Valar.”

“But I have learned that the light of the phial cannot be used to rekindle the Trees,” Frodo said sadly. “When I spoke with him, Gandalf... that is, Olórin told me that once the roots of the Trees died, it could not be undone.”

“But you did not know that when you made your offer,” Galadriel reminded him. “You would have willingly given up a great treasure to a folk you did not even know.”

“That is indeed what matters,” Eärwen agreed. She gazed at both hobbits. “And speaking of folk you do not know, there is something more I wish to say. I apologize to you for the ill treatment you have received since you arrived.”

“Ill treatment?” Bilbo asked, puzzled. “We have met barely a handful of your folk, Lady.”

“That is exactly the point,” Eärwen said firmly. “We have not welcomed you as we ought. We have lived here for time uncounted, and many of our folk have never met a mortal being. We did not understand why you and Frodo were brought here, or what events might unfold from such a strange occurrence. But when we heard that Frodo gathered the gems on the shore only to return them to the sands – and that he offered to give up a treasure to aid us, a people who feared to even greet him properly...” She shook her head. “The Valar are wise, and I now understand why the hidden path to the West was opened for you. Frodo, your offer was selfless, and we honor it. I hope you and Bilbo will accept our apology, and our welcome.”

Galadriel and Gandalf were silent. It was a rare thing for the wife of Finarfin to humble herself thus.

“Of course, Lady,” Frodo said, feeling uncomfortable. “And I understand the wariness of your people, truly. Even my own folk distrust outsiders. The Shire, although beautiful, is not a perfect place. ”

“Tell me of your homeland,” Eärwen encouraged the hobbits, accepting a bowl of berries from Bilbo. “I would know more of the lands from which such noble beings come.”

Frodo blushed, but he and Bilbo were soon talking with great animation. Frodo’s eyes glowed with joy when he spoke of the Shire’s renewed beauty, and he told the Lady about Sam and his cousins.

“Frodo,” Bilbo said after awhile, “I believe it is nearly suppertime. Would you join us, ladies?”

“I hope to see you again, Lady,” Bilbo said, getting stiffly to his feet. “I am writing a book, you know, and would love to hear about... well, everything!” he laughed.

“Would you agree to bear Bilbo home, my friend?” Frodo asked Mellon. “Sitting this long is hard for him.”

Mellon instantly turned so that Bilbo could sit on her back. When she felt he was secure, she rose to her feet, waiting for Frodo.

“I hope to have learned more Quenya the next time we meet,” Frodo said to Eärwen. “And Lady, I hope you know that... you should be very proud of your daughter. She gave us sanctuary on our quest, and blessed our journey in many ways. She might have claimed the Ring for her own, but did not. She sang to us of the Trees, and the West, and… gave me great hope.” He bowed, then he and Gandalf accompanied Mellon up the hill.

“Frodo feared less that he and Bilbo would not be welcomed here, than that I would not be,” Galadriel said softly.

“I sense that he is very special,” Eärwen said thoughtfully. “Tell me more of these hobbits. For what reason did he and his kinsman choose exile from Middle-earth?”

“They did not flee Middle-earth, nor were they driven out. They came, with the blessings of the Valar, in search of a new home. Frodo has been promised healing from his many trials, and a place where he may find peace.”

Eärwen smiled. “He will get little peace with one of the hounds of Oromë as companion.”

“Perhaps not,” Galadriel laughed, “and yet Mellon brings him great joy. Frodo’s childhood traumas are being eased... and now, with your help, a hidden fear may soon be put to rest, as well.”

“That he would find himself alone, or lonely,” Galadriel said. “Frodo took a great chance in coming here. What companionship or support would a mortal know, living in a place so far away, and glimpsed only by him through legends or dreams? Who would be his friends? How long would they stay by him? He was prepared to live a solitary life with his uncle, if that is all he could find – but hobbits thrive on small, everyday pleasures, and the company of friends.” She sighed. “Twice he left his home, as did Bilbo – not knowing what would await them.”

“Celebrían urged me to come, but I delayed,” Eärwen said. “I see that they both wear garments made by her hand; I recognize the weave.”

“It was she who arranged for a home to be made ready for them. She dreamed of their coming, and sensed Arwen’s blessing upon them both.”

Eärwen’s eyes sparkled with tears at the thought of the great-granddaughter she had never met, and never would. Seeking to distract herself, she looked up the hill.

“Bilbo is greatly aged as counted amongst their people, and is no longer as active as he would wish; yet he loves life still, and will perhaps know many more years. Frodo is still recovering from the journey. To maintain a home takes much work, and he and Bilbo struggle on their own to do all that is needful.”

“I promise you that they will struggle no longer; it is time our people heard the truth of their new neighbors, and made them welcome.”

“I thank you,” Galadriel said gratefully, “I know this was difficult for you.”

Eärwen smiled at her daughter. “I have learned much this day, and am not so set in my ways, nor as stubborn, as some might believe.”

“I, too, learned much when first confronted with Frodo’s courage and humility,” Galadriel said. “You are assisting in his healing, mother. Frodo has felt incomplete and discouraged, believing that he lacked the strength or wisdom to accomplish all that he set out to achieve.”

“Exactly,” Galadriel agreed. “With such tasks set before him, no one could have done more. I felt his mood lighten as he heard you explain that intention is as great a gift as accomplishment – especially if that which you strive to accomplish cannot be achieved by any one person.”

“I, too, felt that,” Eärwen said. “I am happy to have eased his spirit in this matter.”

“Come, let us walk together,” Galadriel smiled. “We have spoken but little since you arrived.”

“I am overjoyed to be home at last,” Galadriel said joyously. “I missed you so.”

“I missed you, more than you can imagine,” Eärwen said softly, “And Frodo saw clearly into my heart. I am proud of you, my daughter. Very proud, indeed.”

Sam’s quote is from from ROTK, ‘The Tower of Cirith Ungol’. This chapter brings back Arnen, an Elf of Imladris from my story “Return to Rivendell”.

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. ‘A Short Rest’, The Hobbit

Frodo came to the surface, coughing, which brought Arnen and Erestor swimming quickly to his side.

“It’s all right,” Frodo told them, treading water. “Mellon is just being a mother-hen.” He coughed a bit more, then sat on Mellon’s back so he could rest for a few minutes.

The two Elves relaxed, realizing that Frodo must have breathed in some water not because he was in trouble, but because he was laughing -- initiated by the great hound pulling him up to the surface again. She now stood calmly in the surf, her majestic head well above the water level.

“Now that I’m willing to try swimming underwater, she won’t let me!” Frodo said. “She must sense my fear.”

“Your guardian is vigilant,” Erestor grinned, scratching the dog behind her wet ears. “Have you tried explaining what you are attempting to do?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Frodo realized. He leaned forward and put his arms around the dog’s neck. “Mellon, you must let me try this,” he whispered. “Gandalf said that if I’m truly in distress, you will know it.” He reentered the water, and the massive hound stared at Frodo, seeming to weigh the hobbit’s words. The two Elves watched in awe as she stepped backwards, slightly away from Frodo.

“All right then,” Frodo murmured. He took a deep breath, and pushed himself under the crystal-clear waters once again. Mellon watched carefully, but did not interfere.

“Is Frodo truly frightened of water this calm and shallow?” Arnen wondered aloud. He watched as the small form moved slowly along the Sea bottom, where multi-colored fish swam around him. “I do not believe that Lord Ulmo’s wrath would ever strike these shores.”

“Gandalf told me that his parents drowned when he was but a child,” Erestor explained. “Frodo finds the memory of that sad time difficult to release.”

“Alas, loss is one wound that even Time itself cannot always heal,” Arnen said softly. “But the years soften and gentle even the darkest of times, and our good memories sustain us.” He smiled. “I find myself continuing to use the name ‘Gandalf’, as well. He seems not to mind.”

“He does not,” Erestor assured his friend. “He has been ‘Gandalf’ to many of us – including the hobbits – for all our lives.”

Mellon grew suddenly restive, and at that moment, Frodo’s head broke the surface.

“It’s so beautiful down there,” Frodo grinned, flinging his wet curls out of his face. “But that’s enough for today; I think I’m getting hungry.”

“You did well,” Erestor said approvingly. He and Arnen accompanied Frodo to the beach, while Mellon dashed off to chase seagulls. “Each day you grow bolder.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said. “You and your friends have been so kind, taking me out in your boats and showing me the island... I certainly need to learn to be more comfortable in the water.” he laughed suddenly. "When I saw the shortened swimming-breeches among the garments Lady Celebrían made me, I never dreamed I would be spending so much time in them!"

He and the Elves sat on the blanket he had brought, and Frodo passed out sandwiches and small cakes from his basket.

“Thank you, Frodo; this is delicious,” Arnen remarked appreciatively, and Erestor nodded his agreement.

“Bilbo is a wonderful cook,” Frodo enthused. “Now that we have time to bake, I hope to be able to share more with the others. Everyone has been so helpful, I need to find ways to thank them.” His eyes grew wet with happy tears. “Just what did Lady Eärwen say to your folk? Every morning, Bilbo and I awaken to gifts of furniture, books, cloth, grain, honey... our gardens are just bulging with new seed and blooms, and we now have storehouses and a chicken coop and--”

“Lady Eärwen, Galadriel, and Gandalf spoke at length in the Great Hall at Avallónë,” Erestor told him. “They spoke of your generous spirit, and that there was nothing to fear from you and Bilbo – a fact that a few of us had tried to convey, to little effect.”

“You see, Frodo,” Arnen smiled, “even Elves fear that which they do not understand. Our folk are wary of change.”

“Yes,” Erestor agreed. “Frodo, I was told that even when the Eagles came to Tol Eressëa to tell of your deeds, few here were able to believe that such had been accomplished by a mortal – especially one from a race about which so little was known.”

“Indeed,” Erestor said. “While we voyaged, they spread the news of the destruction of the Ring, and the ascension of Aragorn, descendant of Elros, to the kingship. It is a mighty tale.”

“Now that so many have met with you, and learned your true and generous spirit, there is no more doubt.” Arnen smiled and pointed to the Sea before him, which was thick with boats and swimmers.

Frodo was amazed at how quickly things had changed. When he and Bilbo arrived on Tol Eressëa, this beautiful beach near their home had been deserted. He had thought there were few Elves living nearby, but now realized that they had just been keeping their distance, watching and waiting.

“Everyone has been so kind and thoughtful,” Frodo marveled. He had hoped to make friends here, and not feel alone, but the companionship that now surrounded him and Bilbo was nearly overwhelming. Many Elves regularly came to the hobbits’ small home not just to visit with Frodo, or lend a willing hand in carpentry, landscaping, or planting, but to regale Bilbo with the most wonderful tales. The old hobbit was delighted, but Frodo sensed that the Elves were equally pleased. To have fresh, willing ears to hear all that they had to tell of their histories and trials... Bilbo was hearing enough to fill as many books as he cared to write, and he had begun to compose poetry again.

A burst of laughter and song came from a nearby boat, and Frodo’s eyes lit with joy. Most of the Elves he had known, in Rivendell or Lothlórien, had been rather solemn, their songs and eyes filled with a measure of sadness and a certain fading that he understood. But here on Tol Eressëa... Here, at last, were the Elves of Bilbo’s earliest stories – those who laughed and teased, sang, danced, and feasted -- and seemed to have cast off any weight of evil or dark memories on their hearts. He and Bilbo heard faint music drifting through the air each evening, as they fell into sleep, and received more invitations to feasts, walks, fruit-gathering expeditions, and sailing trips than they could possibly accept. He loved the sailing ships so much...

“What are you thinking about?” Erestor asked, captivated by their small friend’s expressive face.

“Elves, and... our journey here. Travelling on the ship must have been even stranger for you, than for me.”

Frodo nodded, setting out a large plate of food for Mellon. The dog at once came bounding over.

“The water was ever-dancing, and the wind capricious,” Frodo continued, “whereas you were both used to the calm, ordered flow of weather and scenery of Rivendell.”

“As do we,” Arnen said softly, and Erestor nodded. “The Sea has long called to us, and at last we are home.”

After awhile, Frodo started packing up the basket. “I need to do some weeding this afternoon,” he said.

“Are you certain you do not wish more extensive gardens?” Arnen asked Frodo. “Many would help you to maintain them.”

“Even hobbit appetites, and so many delightful guests, can’t keep up with all the vegetables and fruits that will soon be surrounding our house!” Frodo laughed. “Sam shared with me something he realized, when the Ring was trying to tempt him to claim it. He said that ‘one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command’.”

“Plain hobbit sense,” came an amused voice from behind them. “There is nothing quite like it.”

“Hello, Frodo,” Gandalf said quietly. “I wanted to let you know that you may expect a visitor this evening.”

“Someone wishes to speak with you... privately. He has not felt comfortable approaching you before now.”

“Why wouldn’t he feel comfortable?” Frodo asked. “Everyone seems so friendly.”

“And they truly are your friends,” Gandalf assured him. “You need not question that, ever again. No, this is a very special Elf, one who has been to the Halls of Mandos and back.”

“You mean the one who...” Frodo gasped with wonder. “The Celebrimbor who created the rings?” He instinctively looked at Gandalf’s hand, where Narya had been visible all through the voyage West. “Where is your ring?”

Many thanks to my Livejournal friends, with whom I consulted about the appearance of Celebrimbor in this story.

...and dying they are gathered to the halls of Mandos in Valinor, whence they may in time return. ‘Of the Beginning of Days’, The Silmarillion

A gentle twilight was settling over the island by the time supper was over. Bilbo had retired to his study to write, and Frodo was walking with Mellon through one of their gardens, breathing deeply of the fragrant blooms, when he saw someone coming up the path. Tall, and noble of face, the Elf shone with a light all his own, radiating peace... but also loss and suffering, hope and uncertainty. Frodo, whose senses had been greatly heightened even before leaving Middle-earth, felt his heart moved with empathy as Celebrimbor approached. He knows, Frodo thought. He feels as I do. Tears were streaming down his face when Celebrimbor reached him, and the Elf knelt and gently took the hobbit into his arms.

He glows as one who has seen the Trees, or one of grandfather’s gems, Celebrimbor thought, deeply moved by the Ringbearer’s open heart and gentle radiance. But he is wounded, down deep where few can reach. I am glad I came.

At last Frodo pulled back, and wiped his face. “Frodo Baggins, at your service, and your family’s,” he whispered, bowing low.

“And I am at your service, Frodo Baggins.” Celebrimbor stood up, and bowed as well. “I am Celebrimbor. Would that I indeed had family, but I am the last of my House.”

“I know,” Frodo said. “Gandalf told me about you.” He peered up at the Elf curiously. “If you have no family, why would you... return?”

“A bold question,” Celebrimbor said with a smile. “Few have been courageous enough to ask me that.”

“Thank you, Frodo. Your home appears most welcoming, but may we speak out here? I mean no offense, but I spend very little time indoors.”

When Frodo returned with a tray, he found Celebrimbor sitting on one of the comfortable benches set among the gardens and paths, Mellon lying nearby in the cool grass.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you like being indoors?” Frodo asked. "Mellon doesn't like it much, either, but I think our home may be a bit small for her comfort.”

“You may ask me anything,” Celebrimbor smiled. “I spent too many years at my forge, hidden behind walls so that none could learn my secrets. And later, at the end...” He grew solemn. “I was held captive by Sauron, and... died under his torture. Walls and enclosures make me somewhat uncomfortable.”

Frodo found himself blinking back tears again. I came so close to meeting the same fate, he thought. Taken captive, tortured to death or worse... if Sam had not found me...

“And so, I need to breathe clean air, and feel the wind on my face. We all bear wounds,” Celebrimbor said quietly. “Some are physical, some are not. You and I... we bear wounds of the flesh, as well as those that are more deeply hidden.”

“You are not healed?” Frodo asked in amazement. “You died... and returned. Were you not made whole?”

“I am Celebrimbor still, my friend,” the Elf said gravely, “as you are Frodo Baggins, and always will be. Our bodies and spirits retain the memory of our lives’ journey, but we are given choices – and help along the way – to make peace with what has occurred, and not be enslaved by the past." He took Frodo's four-fingered hand and held it gently. "It is the effect of our wounds that must heal, Frodo – not always the wounds themselves.”

“I am not in pain, but after the Quest I would at times grow weak and feel... lost and empty,” Frodo confided. “Do you know about that?”

“I have spoken about you at length with Elrond and Gandalf; I hope you do not mind.”

“No, but...” Frodo sighed. “It is difficult to explain what happens to me when I am struck with the loss of the Ring. I never really talked about it even with Sam, as I didn’t know why it was happening.”

“You said it yourself, Frodo,” Celebrimbor said. “It is loss. Fëanor poured the greater part of his spirit into the Silmarils, and Sauron into his Ring. I was fortunate that I did not lose a greater portion of myself when my rings were dispersed; but still, I felt loss and a certain connection. I sensed when Sauron put the Ring on his finger... and when you did. I mourned, as you mourn.”

“Indeed, yes. You mourn the damage done to your home and kin while you were on your Quest. You mourn the loss of the Ring, and of your quiet, peaceful life. You mourn that which you believe you could have been... or should have been, had you been stronger.” Celebrimbor gazed steadily at Frodo. “I have a theory, if you would like to hear it.”

“The Dark Lord’s greatest weapon is despair, Frodo. Emptiness... loss of hope... loss of joy. The One Ring was taken against your will -- twice. The dark malice carried in blade and bite work still, to remind you of what you lost, and what you believe you lost. It blinds you to what you are, and the true glory of what you achieved."

“You asked why I chose to return to a physical life,” Celebrimbor continued. “I sensed that I had something yet to accomplish here. My tasks were not finished.”

“You hoped to help your people. You thought you were crafting a means for them to preserve what they had, and enhance what they made.”

Celebrimbor stared at him in wonder. “You understand that better than most.”

“You believe that because you could not destroy the One Ring on your own, that somehow you are a failure.”

“Only those who desire to rule others wish to stand alone, Frodo. To claim the Ring could have been accomplished alone, at any time during your Quest. But to destroy it took many people, and many events coming together – as well as the blessing of Powers beyond our knowledge. It was humbling for me to realize that if I had not been so secretive, so stubborn, I might have recognized Sauron’s identity and influence much sooner than I did... and events might have unfolded much differently. But that is past, as your Quest is past. We can work only with the present. And so I have returned, to learn how to help my people in true and humble service -- and in a way that brings no harm.”

“I have become a healer, and rejoice in it. I will soon be taking the son of Eärendil as apprentice, so that he may learn the benefits of the herbs and plants growing here. I have no doubt he has much to teach me, as well.”

“Lord Elrond, an apprentice?” Frodo smiled at the thought. “I didn’t think Elves got sick.”

“We heal more quickly than mortals, and are less prone to illness, it is true,” Celebrimbor said. “However, accidents occur, whether on land or sea.” He pointed out a patch of herb growing nearby. “Do you know the properties of asëa aranion?”

Frodo nodded. “I was happy to see it here, although it looks a bit different. Aragorn called it athelas.”

“King’s leaf,” Celebrimbor nodded. “The meaning is much the same. But the herb you knew is but a pale remnant of that which the Elves of this land originally gifted to the Men of Númenor, who then brought it to Middle-earth. This plant – and others like it – has great power, especially after millenia of careful study and enhancement. It is knowledge such as this that I will impart to Elrond, who lived all his life in Middle-earth.”

“I have been drawn to speak with you,” Celebrimbor smiled, “and it is clear to me that my heart spoke well. Frodo, an object of power was taken against your will. In order to be at peace, I believe you must give something of power, in full agreement and joy of heart, and see it gone. As I must.”

Celebrimbor reached into a pouch at his waist, and withdrew something. He opened his hand, and Frodo gasped with amazement. There before him were Vilya, Nenya, and Narya -- the three rings that had been wielded by Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf.

“And so they come back to me,” the Elf marvelled. “The Bearers returned them.”

“The choice is mine, and I choose to return them to the air, the water, and the fire, each ring to its own end. It will not be easy to say farewell, again, to these creations of my heart; and so I might not have the strength to see this through alone. Frodo, you could not destroy the One Ring on your own, thus you are haunted by feelings of failure and loss -- magnified through physical wounds of the Enemy. The best acts are not achieved alone, but with others of like will and heart. I have thought of a way for both of us to find new strength, and a measure of healing that will grow throughout the rest of our lives.” He smiled at Frodo. “I have asked Gandalf to arrange a very special meeting. Would you assist me in seeing these rings to their final destination?”

Celebrimbor tilted up the hobbit’s chin with a gentle finger and shook his head.

Now fair and marvellous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow. Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset, as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world.

On those journeys Elwing did not go, for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill. Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongue of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey. And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven. ‘Of the Voyage of Eärendil’, The Silmarillion

When Celebrimbor left without giving an exact time or date for the ‘special meeting’ he had mentioned, neither Frodo nor Bilbo thought anything of it; they had already begun adapting to the very fluid concept of time held by the Elves of Tol Eressëa. The only mechanical timepiece on the island was Bilbo’s own pocket-watch, which they gradually consulted less and less... until it was finally put away in a drawer. Both hobbits learned to rely, instead, on Frodo’s uncanny ability to sense when something unusual was about to happen, or when they would be receiving guests for whom they needed to prepare. Bilbo knew that his nephew had spent years dreaming of the Sea, and had envisioned their new home before ever reaching it. Frodo’s abilities had been greatly heightened, apparently, by the journey West and his long healing sleep.

As for Bilbo, he was far from young -- but neither did he feel as weary and infirm as he had before sailing. He slept less, walked more, and felt positively inspired by the tales and songs of the noble folk with whom he and Frodo were surrounded. He was well content with his decision to spend his last years in a new land with his beloved Elves, and was delighted that Frodo had made the best decision for himself, as well. Frodo sang and hummed more and more often, not unlike the Elves with whom they spent so much time; he was happy and busy, exactly as he had foretold that Sam would be in the Shire.

Their days were as full as they wished, whether spent talking, writing, visiting, gardening, baking, gathering fruit or berries, or practicing Quenya with their friends. The hobbits had been delighted to learn that the Elves held fairs and festivals not unlike those in the Shire. Special occasions and remembrances were celebrated with great feasts, during which there was much singing, dancing, and rejoicing in bounty from land and sea.

And of course, there was Mellon. She and Frodo travelled a great deal, together discovering caves, waterfalls, and ancient trails. One day, drawn by he knew not what instinct, Frodo urged the dog toward a secluded valley about halfway between their home and the small city of Avallonë. There, they found one of the descendants of Celeborn, the island’s original White Tree, scion of Galathilion of Valinor. A seedling still, this young tree grew straight and proud, surrounded by sheltering mallorns near a small, perfectly round lake. Frodo espied faint paths in the grass in that valley, made by Elves coming to visit this place. He wondered if this young tree had a name yet, and how many others like it now grew on the island; he hoped someday to discover them all.

Frodo fell asleep under the mallorns, lying comfortably amidst the yellow and white flowers dotting the soft grass. That day, for the first time since sailing West, he dreamed about Middle-earth. He soared high above it, and everywhere he looked, there were lands fertile and renewed... a Shire at peace, Ithilien in bloom, and Gondor flourishing.

It was worth it, was Frodo's first thought upon waking. All of it. I wouldn’t change a thing.

He found by his right hand a soft, new blossom that the white tree had let fall. He brought it home to Bilbo, who had never seen the Tree that bloomed in the courtyard of Minas Tirith. Bilbo chuckled, and plucked several more flowers from where they had settled themselves in Frodo’s curls. Holding the blossoms in their hands, the hobbits found themselves sharing their memories of Aragorn and Arwen. They speculated on what type of kingdom the two were building together, and what their children might be like. Bilbo told Frodo about the joy he had seen in Aragorn’s eyes whenever his friend spoke about Arwen and the future they hoped to share someday. And Frodo told Bilbo more about the wedding, when Arwen slid the ring of Barahir back onto her beloved’s finger and Aragorn had gifted her with a sparkling ring, woven of mithril and diamonds, that had belonged to his mother. Frodo had Bilbo laughing when the old hobbit learned about the look of pure astonishment on Rose Cotton’s face – indeed on the faces of her entire family – when, at their wedding, Sam surprised her with a delicate ring wrought of the gold Bilbo himself had given him in Rivendell. They spoke of rings, and family, and the many wondrous things they had seen in their lives... but lightly, with laughter and fond memories.

And so the gentle days passed, during which Frodo and Bilbo talked about many things, cherishing their time together. But late one night, Frodo felt strangely restless. He went outside, and curled up with Mellon under the trees, his head pillowed on the dog’s warm body.

Without explaining why, Celebrimbor had left Gandalf’s ring, Narya, with him, and Frodo pulled it from his pocket and held it up. Eärendil’s star glittered bright and clear, neither low in the east nor west, but nearly overhead -- a rare sight. Frodo peered at it through Narya’s ruby, and the light from the brilliant star – itself an ancient gem – sparkled and danced in colors of red, orange, and gold not unlike Gandalf’s fireworks.

Narya was neither as delicate to behold as Nenya or Vilya, but to Frodo, it was the most truly beautiful of the three. Its deceptively simple appearance had hidden great power and subtlety, like Gandalf himself. The golden band appeared heavy, but felt, strangely, almost weightless when held. Frodo found it comforting to have a ring in his pocket once again, and because it had been Gandalf’s, felt a special bond with this ring.

As Frodo gazed up at the glittering stars, he found himself thinking about the gems set into each of the Three. He wondered how long it had taken Celebrimbor to make the rings, and how he could possibly bear to give them up twice. And with a sudden realization, he knew without a doubt that the time had come for Celebrimbor to return.

“I should be nervous,” Frodo whispered to Mellon. “He was terribly mysterious about what he and Gandalf were planning. But I feel that something marvelous is about to happen.”

Two days later, in the late afternoon, Frodo reflected on the company with whom he travelled. This short journey reminded him of when he, Sam, and Bilbo, had ridden with the Elves from the Shire to the Grey Havens. But this time the group was very small, the distance short, and although Frodo had been told where they were going, he was uncertain what would happen when they arrived. Elrond, Galadriel, and Celebrimbor each rode a beautiful horse, Bilbo seated in front of Elrond.

Frodo couldn’t remember ever seeing Elrond so excited. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Elrond excited, or in less than perfect control of his emotions. But the Elf Lord was so joyous this evening, he kept bursting into song, his voice pure and vibrant. Bilbo was, as always, excited by another new experience. Celebrimbor seemed solemn, and Galadriel serene.

It was nearly dark when, after a few hours’ gentle ride, they arrived at the top of the cliff a thousand feet above the hobbits’ home – one of the highest points on Tol Eressëa. And here was another remembrance of the Havens, for Gandalf was there to greet them. He stood alone with Shadowfax near one of the few trees growing on this high expanse, his eyes shining as brightly as the stars.

The view from the hobbits’ home was truly beautiful, but from this high up... Frodo slid off Mellon’s back while the others dismounted, and looked east, dazzled. The Sea reflected the deep blues and greens of twilight, punctuated by small, white-sailed ships bobbing gently. Many of the ships glowed with lanterns hung high in the rigging, making the water appear as a firmament of softly-glowing stars.

The cliff was so high, and the air so clear, Frodo felt he could see farther than he ever had before. He found himself wondering if this was how the world always appeared to the Elves, their keen sight bringing them far, clear vistas wherever they looked. After awhile, he realized that everyone was grouped together next to Gandalf, and he joined them.

“Ringbearers, all,” Galadriel said softly. She motioned to the whole group. “Guardians, all.”

Frodo looked up at him. “I think so. Celebrimbor said he wishes to return the Three to the air, water, and fire. He believes it will be healing for him... and for me.” He looked around. “Have we come here to do this?”

Gandalf nodded. “There is power in making and unmaking something; but there is also power – and great wisdom – in knowing when it is time to let go and release that which we hold dear. True guardians know when to step back, and allow what they have nurtured to move on without them.”

Frodo smiled. Wasn’t that what Bilbo had done for him? Gandalf had also stepped back, allowing the hobbits to “set the Shire to rights” and find their own way. And Sam – somehow – had found the strength to let him go, allowing him to come here for healing, and a new life.

He suddenly became aware that Elrond was gazing north, his expression hopeful and filled with longing.

Frodo followed his gaze, but at first saw nothing. Then, a small white speck appeared in the sky, growing closer and larger. At last he could see that it was a bird, white as snow and graceful in its flight.

Thank you, everyone, for reading. I thoroughly enjoyed exploring the beginning of Frodo's "path to healing" in the West. There may be an epilogue or even a sequel to this story sometime in the future, if the muse is encouraging.

THE PATH TO HEALING

Chapter 7 -- Letting Go

“For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important point.” Gandalf, The Fellowship of the Ring

The only time Frodo ever heard Mellon bark was when she was trying to get his attention – or when there were gulls to be chased. As the white bird approached, he called for the dog and touched her gently, whispering for her to be still. But no such warning seemed to be needed; the majestic hound apparently sensed that something unusual was occurring, and sat quietly at his side.

“Frodo lad,” Bilbo murmured, “did I ever tell you about Lord Elrond’s mother?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered. They both watched, awestruck, as the bird landed gracefully. There was a shifting of the air, a strange, blurred shimmer, and there before them all stood a slender and beautiful Elf woman, clad in a gown of silver-white. Her hair was dark as night, and sparkled as if dusted with gems. She ran to Elrond, who enfolded her in his arms. They were both weeping, murmuring soft words to one another that no one else could hear. After a time, Elwing stepped back and took Elrond’s face in her hands.

“It has been so long, my son,” she whispered. “There is so much in my heart, I cannot express it.” Holding his hand, as if unwilling to let him go, she turned to the others, wiping her eyes. “Greetings, Olórin, Galadriel, Celebrimbor...” Elwing then looked at the hobbits and smiled at them.

“Lady Elwing, I am Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo said, bowing low. “I am at your service.” He was so excited, he could barely contain himself. Meeting the mother of his beloved friend Elrond was wonderful enough, but she was also... a shape shifter. Ever since encountering Beorn so many years before, he had longed to speak further with one who knew that art. This evening, as always, he felt the most fortunate of all hobbits. His thoughts tumbled delightedly.

To experience the air as a bird, what could that be like? The fall of Númenor... did she and Eärendil watch it occur? Does she know she has grandchildren, and that Arwen is now Queen? Does Elrond resemble his father? We must have her to tea. I wonder if...

“Frodo Baggins, at your service.” Frodo was saying, and he bowed, as well.

“Ringbearers, your deeds are known; speaking for my husband and myself, we bid you welcome to the Western shores,” Elwing said to the hobbits. She peered curiously at Frodo. “Frodo Baggins, I sense something of a Silmaril about you; how is this possible?”

“I bear this, Lady,” Frodo said, pulling the phial from his vest pocket. “Galadriel captured the light of your husband’s gem within this crystal; it was a light to me when all else went dark.”

Celebrimbor stared at the crystal in awe; this was the first time he had seen it.

“When Frodo arrived here,” Elrond told his mother, “he offered this treasure for the benefit of the Trees -- not knowing that they were beyond aid.”

“And yet,” Galadriel continued, “even after this selfless act, and all he has done, he continues to feel a sense of failure and loss.”

“I understand those feelings very well,” Elwing said softly. She felt Elrond clasp her hand more tightly.

“My healing has already begun, Lady,” Frodo said gratefully. “I sense it in many ways.”

“Frodo, it is my hope that you will further benefit by what we will accomplish this evening,” Celebrimbor said, stepping forward. “Lady Elwing,” he said respectfully, “I thank you for your assistance in sending the Three to their final homes – Nenya to water, Narya to fire, and Vilya to the sky.”

“It is our pleasure to do so,” Elwing said. “As soon as you are ready, Celebrimbor, I will take the rings to my husband.”

“To Eärendil himself?” Bilbo gasped. “What will he do with them?”

“Each ring to its own destiny,” Elwing said. “Celebrimbor contacted us, through Olórin, and explained what you wish to accomplish. As Eärendil sails the skies, he will drop Nenya into the Sea, far from any shore. Narya he will consign to the fires that dance beyond the Void. As for Vilya...” She smiled warmly at her son. “Your father wishes to wear it. Its final home will be amongst the stars, on the hand of a father who is most proud of his son.”

Tears began to flow afresh from Elrond’s eyes, and he brought his mother’s hand to his lips.

“It is I who will be most proud,” he murmured.

Celebrimbor drew from his waist a pouch on a long cord, containing Vilya and Nenya. He came to Frodo, and knelt before him.

“Frodo, it is time.”

Frodo reluctantly drew Narya from his pocket, and sighed. “I don’t wish to give it up,” he admitted.

“Nor do I,” Celebrimbor said gently. “But do you recall what I told you when we met? An object of power was taken against your will. In order to move on, I believe you must give something of power, in full agreement and joy of heart, and see it gone. This act will help you to understand your strength of spirit and will, and aid your healing; only thus can the influence of the Shadow that lingers in your wounds begin to fade. The rings have been through great journeys, and accomplished much.” He motioned to everyone there. “We send them onward together. As we discussed, most great deeds are accomplished with others of like heart.”

Frodo saw Bilbo smiling at him. Through the years, he had often wondered where Bilbo found the strength, on his own, to give up the Ring... and had regretted faltering, where Bilbo had not. But now a new thought occurred to him: Bilbo had not been totally on his own, after all. Gandalf had been there to encourage, and aid him in his decision. Frodo was slowly accepting the fact that he could not have relinquished the One Ring freely, so close to the place of its making; and its strength had overcome him only at the last. But this ring he could relinquish, and he would. As fond of it as he had grown, did he really need a ring, or anything else, to feel Gandalf’s presence? He looked down at Narya and smiled. Like Bilbo’s pocketwatch, it was time to put it aside.

“Ringbearers, all,” he heard Galadriel’s words echo in his mind. All here, save Elwing, had been ringbearers; and all had given them up -- some, more than once. He, too, stood in this company, among whom the title of “ringbearer” meant also “guardian” – someone who could see a job done, then release their hold on that which they had safeguarded.

With no further reluctance, Frodo handed Narya to Celebrimbor. The Elf had waited patiently, making no move to take it from him.

“That’s my lad,” Bilbo said proudly.

Celebrimbor gave Frodo a look of warm regard, and placed Narya into the pouch with the other two rings. He rose to his feet and started to hand them to Elwing, but suddenly hesitated. It was now he who felt reluctant to hand over the Three, the creations of his heart. It had been difficult enough the first time...

Unexpectedly, Frodo took his hand. “You can do it,” he said encouragingly.

Celebrimbor took a deep breath. “I can,” he smiled. “We do this together.” He gave Elwing the pouch. She nodded gravely, and hung it about her neck.

“I will return as soon as I may,” she said to her son, embracing him before bidding the others farewell. “We will meet again, my friends,” she smiled at the hobbits. There was another blurred shift in the air about her, then a white bird was taking to the sky, soaring toward a brilliant star low in the northern skies.

“That was amazing,” Bilbo whispered.

The group stood quietly for a time, each alone with his or her thoughts. Suddenly the phial, still in Frodo’s hand, flared brilliantly for a long moment -- before fading to its usual gentle radiance.

“Let us go,” Elrond said at last. He was smiling joyously, as was Celebrimbor.

“Indeed, dear Bilbo is nearly asleep on his feet,” Gandalf said. Elrond mounted his horse, and Gandalf lifted Bilbo gently and handed him to the Elf Lord.

“Ride with me, Frodo,” Gandalf said, mounting Shadowfax. “I would not wish you to fall from Mellon’s back halfway home.”

“Why would I...” Suddenly Frodo yawned hugely, and realized how sleepy he was, as well. How long since we arrived up here? he wondered vaguely. Time in the West passes so oddly... Celebrimbor lifted him up to sit in front of Gandalf, and the party began its slow ride back down to the hobbits’ home.

“It was hard giving up your ring, Gandalf,” Frodo admitted.

“I am very proud of you, my boy; hobbits are amazing creatures, as I have often said. How do you feel?”

“Very peaceful.” Frodo yawned again.

“You and Bilbo will be home soon. Lean back against me, and relax.”

“Where’s Mellon?” Frodo asked, his eyes closing.

“Walking next to us,” Gandalf replied softly. “She is at your side, and always will be.”

“Is Bilbo all right?”

“He is fine,” Elrond responded. “Sound asleep, and no doubt dreaming of a certain Mariner and his ship.”

"I'm so happy for you that you saw your mother, Lord Elrond."

"Thank you, Frodo."

“Gandalf,” Frodo murmured after awhile, “time really does pass very strangely here.”

“Does it disturb you greatly?” the wizard asked, concerned.

“Not at all. I was just thinking...”

“Yes?”

“When Sam comes, perhaps Bilbo will still be with us," Frodo said hopefully.

“Considering all I have yet to learn about hobbits,” Gandalf smiled, “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”

** END **

The Path to Healing by shirebound