Prologue - Might Have Beens 

          The children were gathered in the parlor where their father had been reading to them from the Red Book.  As Samwise Gamgee-Gardner finished reading the chapter regarding the visit of the Fellowship to Lorien, there was a general sigh.  “I’d like to visit there, Da,” Frodo-lad commented.  “It sounds so beautiful.  A whole forest of mallorn trees--just imagine!”

          Sam’s expression grew pensive.  “I’m sorry, my best lad,” he said softly.  “Oh, you can go there, o’ course, but it’s not precisely like that no more--not now.  When the Lady left Middle Earth, the Golden Wood began to fade.  Her ring lost its power when Sauron’s went into the fire, after all.

          “Mellyrn aren’t from here, you understand--their right place is in Aman.  Now as the Elven rings have failed and most of the Elves of Lorien have left, the mellyrn there are startin’ to go mortal, or so Lord Elrohir told me last time as I saw him, there a few years back.  How long it’ll take afore all the trees in the land’s the same as in the lands around it I can’t guess.  I hope, though, as it’ll be long after we’re gone from here.”

          “Wouldn’t you want to go there again, Sam-dad?” Elanor asked.

          Sam thought a moment before answering, “No--wouldn’t be the same, not at all, not without the special light as filled it when the Lady lived there.  And it wouldn’t be the same without my Master, neither.  I fear for me ’twould be a disappointment.  Now, for you lot, I think as you’d find it wonderful, and I hope as one day one or more’ll go and see afore it fades completely.  I found myself wonderin’, there when we was goin’ through Hollin, as what it was like when the Elves lived there, when Celebrimbor was Lord, and the Lady and Lord Celeborn were second to him, there in Eregion.  Legolas got right poetic, listenin’ to the lament of the stones.”

          “Deep they delved us, high they builded us,” recited Rosie-lass.  “That is lovely, so lovely, Dad.”

          He smiled.

          Young Merry-lad sighed.  “It would be more wonderful to’ve seen it as you did, Da, you and Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin--and Uncle Frodo.  So bright and wonderful it must of been.”

          Sam gave a sad shrug.  “Perhaps, best beloved.  Perhaps indeed.  But you must remember that along with the brightness went the darkness as well--murderous orcs, Black Riders, that Mouth of Sauron, them horrid winged things as’d fly over us, that Gollum.”  He shivered.  “The highest and the lowest are leavin’ us together, you see.  You’re lucky, for ye’ll most likely have Lord Strider as King almost all your lives, and so you’ll always know as there’s still a few Elves about, in Eryn Lasgalen and Rivendell and Mithlond and Ithilien, and a few lingerin’ in the wilderlands, like.  But even as each generation of orcs’ll be less than the last from now on, there’ll be fewer and fewer Elves left in Middle Earth as well.  At least you’ve all been blest by knowin’ some.”

          Elanor reached out to take the thick book from her father’s hands, cradling it lovingly to her chest.  “Lord Strider and Lady Arwen are blessings indeed to know.  But at times I wish Uncle Frodo were here with us, so he could see the younger ones and the stable and how lovely the mallorn is and Uncle Lord Strider’s children and....”

          Sam laughed.  “Oh, lass, how indeed I wish he was here, too.  He’d love you all, he would--would sit you all down and tell you stories and tell you in Elvish just how proud he was of all o’ you, how delightful you all are, how beautifully you’ve kept the hole, and then he’d be givin’ you all horehound drops--all save you, Goldie, for he’d have mints for you, he would, knowin’ as they was your special favorite; and he’d begin tellin’ you the old tales and the new ones, and showin’ you how water worms turn to shinin’ little flies....”

          “But you’ve showed us that,” objected Pippin-lad.

          “Only ’cause he showed me first, you know,” his father assured him.  “And you’d each take him to your favorite part o’ the gardens and he’d tell you it was his favorite part, too, only he wouldn’t be lyin’ to any o’ you, for he loved it all, each part for its own beauty.  And we’d all lie out on top o’ the Hill together and watch the stars and he’d show you the special beauty of each one, teach you to listen to the Song as weaves through’em all, he would.”

          “Would he like the wee Hobbit house?” asked Goldilocks.

          “Oh, he’d look down on it and just laugh at the wonder of it, and he’d listen to the stories we’ve all spun about it and those as live in it, and then he’d get down and peer in through the windows and show you as how it’s all true, speak of the wonders of just how livin’ is a joy in itself.”

          “I wish he hadn’t agone to Elvenhome,” little Hamfast murmured.

          “He couldn’t help it,” objected Frodo-lad.  “He was a Ring-bearer, too, same as Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond.  When the One Ring was gone, he stayed long enough to be certain the rest of the Shire would be all right and would be able to rejoice in the new part of the Song, and then he went to join It.”

          “Went to join what?” asked Merry-lad, his attention fixed on his oldest brother.  “Join the Ring?”

          “No,” scoffed Rosie-lass.  “The Ring went into the fiery lava.  He didn’t go to that.”

          “He almost did,” Elanor said softly, “him and our dad both.”

          “Only the Eagles came, and with Gandalf they saved them both,” Pippin-lad continued.

          “That they did,” Sam agreed, tousling the child’s hair.

          Frodo-lad sat on the settle and drew Hamfast-lad onto his lap, holding him tenderly.  “It was the Song Uncle Frodo went to join, Merry,” he said over their little brother’s head, “not the Ring.  He gets to sing in the Song, there in Elvenhome, along with the Valar and the Maiar and the great Elves.  And he’ll keep singing in it, he will, until our dad finally goes to join him and be with him again, and then Da will help sing the Song, too, for what time there they know together.  Then they’ll go on out of the Bounds of Arda, and become part of the Song Itself, I think.”

          “I still wish he hadn’t agone,” Hamfast repeated.  “Then he could kiss my cut finger and make it better, like Daddy and Mummy do.  I bet it would get better much faster if he kissed it, too.”

          Sam stifled a laugh at the same time he felt a pang in his heart.  “I bet it would at that, lad,” he murmured as he scooped the small child out of Frodo-lad’s arms and into his own.  “He would always find ways to make things better for folks, your Uncle Frodo would.”

          “I wonder what it would have been like, if Uncle Frodo hadn’t left?” Goldilocks said.

          “I wonder what lots of things would be like, if things hadn’t worked the way they did,” Rosie added.  “I wonder what might have happened if Lord Strider didn’t ride through the Paths of the Dead, or if they’d made it over Caradhras instead of having to go through the Mines.”

          Pippin-lad looked up into his father’s eyes as they heard the door open, announcing their mother had returned from Auntie May’s place.  “Do you ever wonder what might have been, Da?” he asked.

          “I do indeed,” Sam said as he turned to greet his wife as she peeked into the parlor.  “Oh, indeed I do, lovey.  And welcome back, my lovely Rose.”  So saying, he leaned over the child he held in his arms to kiss her ready lips.

Last Riding

          “It will be Bilbo’s birthday on Thursday, Sam,” Frodo said quietly as he set the letter Sam had brought him, slipped back into its envelope, on the desk. “And he will pass the Old Took.  He will be a hundred and thirty-one.”  He looked thoughtfully out the window, his expression pensive as he rubbed at his shoulder.  Sam noted the rubbing, for it had become more frequent again lately.  Yet his Master didn’t seem to even notice as he did it any more--it was just something that was now part of him.

          “So he will,” Sam responded automatically.  “He’s a marvel!”

          Frodo turned his head slightly to look somewhat sideways at his companion, giving a slight smile.  “Well, Sam,” he began, “I want you to see Rose and find out if she can spare you, just for a few days, so you and I can go off together.  It won’t be too far, or for too long--no more than a week at most, I’d imagine,” he added a bit wistfully as he turned his eyes back to the view through the window.  “I know you can’t be gone from her for long at a time anyway, not any more,” he murmured.

          “Well, not very well, Mr. Frodo.”

          “Of course not.  But never mind--we won’t be gone all that long, after all.  And you can tell her we’ll be safe enough.”

          “Where will we be going?” Sam asked.  “To Rivendell, perhaps?”

          Frodo turned to face Sam more fully.  “In a week’s time?  No, we go to meet guests to the Shire, is all, and then back home again.  Did you wish to go to Rivendell, my Sam?”

          Sam took his courage in both hands, deciding the time had come for frankness.  “It’s not that I want to go there, Master, as much as I wish as you’d decide to go there and stay, retire there, like, and be with Mr. Bilbo and Lord Elrond and his sons and all.”

          Frodo continued to rub at his shoulder as he digested that.  At last he answered, “I fear the time for that is past, Sam.  I’m sorry.  I hope you’ll understand.”  He became quiet again as he searched his friend’s face.  “I’ve managed to tear you in two so often, Sam, in the past few years.  But the time for that is almost over.  But you will be healed.  You were meant to be solid and whole, and you will be.”

*******

          “He won’t be havin’ the party this year for the Birthday, then?” Rosie asked once more.

          Sam shook his head.  “No.  Instead we’re to go off.  But you heard him at the dinner when Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin’s parents came--said as he’d be spendin’ his birthday with a cousin as he’d not seen for a time.  I’m not certain, but I suspect as it’ll be old Mr. Bilbo.  I think as the Elves might be bringin’ him back to the Shire at last.”

          She nodded.  “Do you think as I ought to fix up a spare room for him?  Or should we sleep in a different room, do you think?  Ours was his, after all.”

          “Maybe just fix a spare room, Rosie-love,” he suggested.  “I doubt as he thinks of this as his no more, not after twenty years of bein’ gone.”

          Again she nodded, then they found themselves holding out their arms and embracing one another.  If it was Mr. Bilbo coming back to the Shire, there were two possible reasons why:

          At a hundred thirty-one he was ancient indeed, and was undoubtedly ready to give over soon.  It was very likely the old Hobbit had wanted to be back in his homeland with his Frodo at his side when that day came; and with Elrond’s likely knowledge of just how tenuous Frodo’s own health had become he’d likely understand that Frodo was in no condition to travel as far as Rivendell in time.

          Or, with Elrond’s likely knowledge of just how tenuous Frodo’s own health had become they might be bringing Bilbo back to sit by Frodo as the younger Hobbit himself gave over.  That was quite likely, considering how the memories seemed to hold sway over Frodo Baggins on the anniversaries.  Considering how long it had taken Frodo to recover from last spring’s bout, there was far too strong a probability he wouldn’t recover from what he was likely to experience on October sixth, the anniversary of the night on which he was stabbed with the Morgul blade.

          Of course there was a third possibility--that they were bringing Bilbo here so that the two Bagginses could each comfort the other as he prepared for death, and so they might accompany one another as they could.  As Sam considered just how likely that was to be true he shivered, and he buried his face in the hollow of Rosie’s shoulder, beginning to weep at the thought of it.  She just held him close, whispering encouragement and comfort as she could, her own tears slipping gently down her cheeks.

*******

          Two days later Sam started into the study with Frodo’s luncheon to find his Master sitting at his desk, the great book lying closed before him, the steel pen with which he’d been writing sitting forgotten in the open bottle of ink as he stared blankly, again rubbing at his shoulder absently.

          “Mr. Frodo?”

          Frodo turned, his face clearing slowly, blinking repeatedly as if his vision was bothering him some.  At last he looked up.  “Sam?”

          “I brought you somethin’ to eat, Master,” the gardener said, doing his best to bring his friend’s mind back to the moment, now, here in the study in Bag End.

          “Oh, thank you, Sam.  Just set it there,” he added, gesturing at a clear place on the desk’s surface to the left of the book.

          Sam set the plate down on the indicated spot, thinking just how much that space seemed to reflect Frodo’s own gradual withdrawal over the past several months.  Once this desk’s top had always been full of papers and books of reference and notes and lists of words in Sindarin or Quenya and their meanings, diagrams of insects or animals, maps of this place and that....  Now it was bare of almost all, save for the tidy pile of documents there along the rightmost edge, and the book, and Frodo’s writing materials, lined neatly across the back of the desk. 

          Frodo sighed and gave a shake to his head, then reached out and took up the great red volume, turning to hand it to Sam.  “Here,” he said softly.  “This is the first thing you’ll be responsible for.”

          Sam opened it and read the title page, his mouth twitching into a wry smile as he looked at all of old Bilbo’s attempts to find a proper title for it, then smiling more naturally as he read Frodo’s most apt resolution of Bilbo’s dilemma.  He riffled through the pages to the back, catching a phrase here and there, or a quick description of a scene he recognized.  “Why, you’ve nearly finished, it, Mr. Frodo,” he said with pleasure.  “Well, I must say as you’ve kept right at it.”

          “I’ve quite finished it,” Frodo replied, sitting there with the mug of tea Sam had brought held between his hands as if he were warming them.  “The rest is for you.”

          The older Hobbit continued to sit there unmoving for another moment, then lifted the mug and sniffed at it without drinking from it.  At last he set it down and again turned to look up at Sam, saying with decision, “Sam, I wish you to brew up some of your own tea, just as you’ve always made it, and add some to this.  I find the herbs in this that Lord Elrond sent--they appear to--to distract me.  It’s harder to focus.  It’s helped till now, but his letter indicated this draught may begin to react differently if one--if one relies on it for too long a time.”  He took up the mug again and handed it to Sam.

          “I see Master,” Sam murmured as he replaced the Red Book in its place.  “Well, I’ll go off and take care of that right away, I will.  I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

          He was as good as his word, and within fifteen minutes he was back.  The pen Frodo had been writing with had been carefully wiped, and it lay across the hollow of the inkstand, and the bottle of ink was now capped and set alongside the box of drying sand with its miniature sifter at the back of the desk.  The Red Book had been shifted to the left, and now several of the documents and a heavy envelope from the stack to the right lay in the center.  “I’ve signed over Bag End to you, Sam,” Frodo said without preamble, taking up the envelope.  “The deed and document of reconveyance are in here.”  He passed it to Sam, who accepted it reluctantly.  He watched until at last Sam opened the clasp and withdrew the papers within, examining them quickly, then returning them speedily to the envelope as if doing so would somehow manage to undo them or erase their intent.  

          Frodo took up the mug and again sniffed at it, this time giving a slight nod as if satisfied, and sipped from it, then drank more deeply.  He set it down.  “When I was in Michel Delving I had my will registered by Will Whitfoot, and saw to several other pieces of business.  The relevant documents are mostly here, and you may look through them if you wish.  My personal lawyer will have the rest ready--when the time comes, of course.”

          Sam took a deep breath in through his mouth and held it, finally letting it out again but saying nothing.  Frodo continued, “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning and riding--riding slowly, I think.”  Sam gave a nod of understanding.  “We’ll camp out tomorrow night, and then ride on.  We’re to meet near sunset of the Birthday at the latest.  We’ll remain with them for a time, then return.”

          And why won’t you go with them? Sam found himself wondering.  You could, you know.  You belong with them, Master--not here, not no more.  But again he spoke nothing aloud.

          Frodo accepted the envelope back and set it aside, then went through a few other papers, describing each briefly; and indicated the notes he’d made for the appendices.  “Most of these Bilbo wrote, but I hadn’t time to add them all in.  I suspect you’ll have to copy them all over again, then bind what you have to copy onto blank sheets into the original.”  He paused, looking at them with his head slightly cocked, then looked up at Sam solemnly.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t finish all that, but I’ve done what I could with--with the time given me, Sam.”

          The gardener didn’t trust himself to speak.  At last Frodo finished his cup of tea, rose stiffly, excused himself, and absented himself to his room, leaving Sam standing forlorn in the study, looking at the pile of papers and documents he’d never wished to have to examine--certainly not now.  A wave of fury flowed through Sam, fury at a Creator who’d asked too much of one of the best of all individuals ever born in Arda--surely the best to have been born in the Shire, at least.  Fury at the Valar who hadn’t done enough to see to it Frodo didn’t lose most of himself when he lost the Ring.  Fury at a world in which all was so unfair.  At last he couldn’t stand it any more, and turned and hurried down the passageway, past the parlor where Rose sat with her sewing, Elanor’s cradle at her feet, looking up in surprise to see his haste and distress, before he shouldered through the green door and went hurrying down the Hill and into the ragged woods at the bottom.  There he leaned again against a tree within sight of the small stream that caught the sparkle of sunlight as it sifted through the still green leaves overhead, watching as a few, turned yellow a bit early, drifted down to float within sight briefly before drifting away with the current.

          It was past tea time when he returned, and he barely ate what Rosie had set out for him.  Afterward he and she quietly filled his pack with what provisions they’d need, and he one last time filled the water bottles and two small stone jars with Mr. Frodo’s tea.

*******

          The stable Hobbit had Bill and Strider ready when Sam arrived at the Ivy Bush, and with an absent nod of thanks Sam accepted them and led them back up the Hill to the lane below the entrance to Bag End.  Frodo was slowly coming down the steps, his saddlebags over his shoulder, and Rosie followed behind with Elanor in her arms.

          “That’s not a great deal for you to bring, Mr. Frodo,” Sam commented.

          “Other than my blanket-roll, what more will I truly need, do you think?” Frodo asked simply.  “We won’t be gone all that long, after all.”  He fastened the bags to the saddle, and rather stiffly and clumsily (for Frodo Baggins, at least) swung himself into his saddle while Sam went in to fetch his own bags and pack, the water bottles, and the blanket-rolls.  He soon had Frodo’s roll tied to the crupper of Strider’s saddle and had handed Frodo one of the bottles to sling over his shoulder.  He soon had his bags and roll fastened on, carefully slipped the straps to the other water bottles over the saddlehorn, made certain his pack was properly adjusted on his shoulders, and at last turned to look up at the Hobbit mounted on Strider’s back, now cradling Elanor in his arms, murmuring to her in barely audible Sindarin.

          “You ready, Master?” Sam asked as Rosie approached him to hug him goodbye.  Frodo gave a slightly delayed nod, then leaned his face down to give the bairn a gentle kiss on her forehead.  Sam watched as Frodo held the child close to him, then turned to Rosie, noting the sadness and acceptance in her eyes.  “We’ll be back as soon as we might,” Sam whispered to his wife, and as she indicated her understanding he pulled her tightly to him, kissing her deeply, the two of them clinging to one another.

          Then she was going forward to reach up to take Elanor from Frodo, kissing his hand and holding it to her for a moment before finally letting it go.  He smiled gently down at her, and let his hand rest atop her head briefly before he pulled away at last, chirruping to Strider and leading the way down the lane toward the main way to the Road.

          They rode mostly in silence, although now and then Frodo would look around at the young trees and smile as if in satisfaction as to how much they’d grown in the past year.  “They have done very well, don’t you think, Sam?” he asked as at last he indicated he was ready to stop for elevenses.

          “That they have.”

          Neither ate much, and soon they were remounted and continued on their way.

          They rode slowly and easily, stopping frequently for their sparse meals and to allow Frodo to stretch his legs.  They were quiet most of the way, although Sam often heard Frodo humming to himself and occasionally singing brief snatches of songs, some Bilbo’s, some traditional Shire favorites, a few from other lands far from the Shire.  When at last they stopped for the night Frodo helped with the setting up of the camp, but he seemed to need to pause all too frequently for Sam’s comfort.  It was yet early, still a good half hour or better before sunset; remembering that first leaving of Bag End together, three years ago, Sam couldn’t help contrast the two, how then they’d traveled under the stars and had managed to get further than this before they’d stopped, sometime near the middle of the night.

          They lay near one another, their feet to the fire, Frodo looking up at the stars, singing softly the song Sam had sung during his search for Frodo in the Orc tower.  When he was done, he turned his head and gave Sam a deep look, and smiled before finally slipping into slumber.  When Sam woke at dawn, he realized Frodo was holding onto the gem he wore, and he had the Lady’s starglass in his hand.  Sam was surprised, for he’d not realized Frodo had brought the phial with him.  There was still a soft smile on Frodo’s face, although that groove between his eyebrows that had deepened so in the last two years could still be seen.  Frodo woke soon after, and was blinking furiously and shaking his head as he rose, carefully stowing the phial in the inner pocket of his vest.  He ate what Sam served him for breakfast without a word, took the dishes to the small stream near where they had slept and scoured them with fine sand, then stacked them neatly and returned them to Sam before accepting the mug Sam offered him and drank it down.

          Sam saddled both ponies, and soon Frodo was by him, stroking Strider’s muzzle and speaking softly to him in Sindarin, then checking the cinch and the fit of the bridle as Sam finished tying on bags and rolls.  When both were at last mounted, they turned toward the Woody End.

          Frodo was setting the pace again, and again it was slow and ambling.  They stopped near noon and Frodo ate sparingly, then indicated he needed to rest for a time. Sam kept a watch, humming the tune to Aragorn’s invocation for healing, noting that again Frodo took out the phial and held it in his left hand while he fingered the gem with his right until at last he slept again.

          It was late afternoon when they finally set off once more, and the stars were twinkling merrily in the sky when they heard the hymn to Elbereth.  At that Frodo paused Strider, his right hand on the pony’s mane, as they waited for the Elves to emerge from the forest and surround them.  Sam noted the presence of Elrond and Galadriel, Gildor and Lindir, and others he’d met in the train of each.  But Frodo’s eyes were drawn immediately to Bilbo, who rode on a stout pony at Elrond’s side, apparently drowsing.  He barely seemed to note the greetings offered by Elrond or Galadriel, his eyes taking in the sight of the elderly Hobbit, apparently noting just how frail Bilbo now was as the old fellow opened his eyes.  “Hullo, Frodo,” he said.  “Well, I’ve passed the Old Took today!  So that’s settled.  And now I feel quite ready to go on another adventure.  Will you be coming with us?”

          But Frodo was shaking his head.  “No, Bilbo--I’ve chosen to remain here as a Hobbit of the Shire.”  And at the old Hobbit’s look of distress he added hastily, “I want for you to go, Bilbo, please.  Go and represent to those who dwell there the best from among us.  Let them see just how wonderful and witty and endearing and funny we Hobbits are capable of being.  But, it’s too late for me, Bilbo.  Once again I’m dying by inches, and I have only one or two left at most.

          “You told Gandalf that the reason I didn’t leave with you last time was because I was still in love with the Shire, the fields and woods and little rivers and streams.  Well, I still am.  I left the Shire before to protect all those and our people who inhabit this land; and now I’ll stay because I belong here and want to finish what is left to me as a Hobbit of the Shire.  I don’t know what all has been happening to me, deep inside, but I find at the last I would prefer to remain myself, even if it is but a short time.  Perhaps I could be refilled there, but I don’t want to lose what little there is of me as Frodo Baggins.  Writing our story has served to remind me why I left our land and why I wanted to return to it.”

          “But Frodo--you don’t belong here now.  You’ve changed too much!” Bilbo began, but Elrond leaned down to set his hand on his companion’s head.

          “No, Bilbo, this must be his decision, and no one else can take from him the right to decide as he wills.  It would be a great blessing for him to accompany us as one of the Ring-bearers; but Eru can bring blessing to him as easily wherever he chooses to end his days.”

          The company made a camp there where they’d met, and spent that night and the following day with Frodo and Sam; and while Frodo sat, leaning back against a tree, drowsing himself as Bilbo slept with his head pillowed in Frodo’s lap, Elrond, the Lady, and Sam talked.

          “But I don’t understand as why he doesn’t want to go with you!” Sam repeated for at least the fifth time.  “He could find healing there--know joy and happiness there again.  Even if I never saw him again, the thought that there he was able to be truly alive once more would heal my heart.”

          Gildor looked over his shoulder at the drowsing pair under the linden tree.  “I suspect a good part of it, Lord Samwise, is that he does not wish to abandon you before he must.  He’s known your companionship for so long, and has rejoiced in the closeness of your love and that of your family.  To be separated so from you before he comes to accept the Gift--I think he finds the prospect terrifying, terrifying and unacceptable.”

          “Has he told you that the offer to go to Tol Eressëa is open to you as well as himself, Bilbo, and Gimli?” Elrond asked him.

          Sam grew pale.  “No, he’s not.  Would I have to go now?”

          Galadriel glanced at Frodo and Bilbo, then looked back at him.  “No, Master Samwise, it is not required you should go now.  You may go when you choose.”

          He nodded, obviously thinking furiously.  “He didn’t want me to go with him, then, should he have chose it--not now.  He wants me to stay with Rosie, since I’ve married her and all.”

          Lindir gave a soft nod.  “Yes, I suppose that is a good part of it, small Master.”

          After another pause Sam asked quietly, “If’n--if’n I was to go--now--do you think as he’d change his mind?”

          “Do you want to go now?”

          “No!  I’ve a wife ’n’ daughter awaitin’ for me, I do, there at Bag End.  But I don’t want him just to die, and so soon as it seems will happen, just for my sake, just as he don’t want me to leave them, just for his.”

          “Then,” Galadriel said gently, “I doubt he would agree, not even if he were to attend you to the quays of Mithlond and see you go aboard the ship and the ship set sail.  As he wishes you to remain here for what time is given you with your family, he would choose to remain even more strongly to keep your ties here for as long as possible.  As has been repeatedly pointed out to us, he is a markedly stubborn Baggins.”

          “That he is and no mistake!” Sam fumed.  He gave a deep sigh, staring at the place where the two Bagginses rested together.  “Can I try to reason with him?” he asked.  “You stopped old Mr. Bilbo, after all.”

          The Elves exchanged glances.  At last the Lady spoke.  “We may not say anything, for fear of influencing him to make our decision and not his.  However, as he has obviously chosen to make your decision for you, or to postpone it for as long as possible, I suspect none will take it amiss if you do question him.  However, I wish you well with it.”  She laid her hand on his head as if in blessing, and as she withdrew it he gave a brief nod, took a deep breath, and rose to approach his Master.

          He sat down beside Frodo, at which time Frodo’s head, as if only awaiting his coming, slipped sideways onto his shoulder.  He felt some of his righteous anger slip his grasp, and wondered briefly if this might have been deliberate.  No, he decided, such a view was beneath him, so he resolved to wait until his master at last awoke.

          Before that happened, however, he realized that Bilbo was once again alert, looking up at him with those faded blue eyes of his.  “Are you angry with him?” Bilbo murmured, seeking not to disturb his former ward.  “He didn’t intend to cause you further grief, you know.

          “I know,” Sam whispered in return with a sideways look at the head on his shoulder.  “But he oughtn’t to of tried to hide it all from me.  I’ll never stop lovin’ him, whether or no, of course; and it’s only natural I’d not want to leave my Rose and our Elanorellë right now, not to mention the others as will be born.  But if it’s his decision to choose for him, then it’s mine to choose when for me.  Not, mind you, as I’ve made up my mind as I’d even go.  But for him----”

          “The decision can’t be for his sake, Sam.  It has to be for you, and for you alone,” Bilbo warned him.

          “I’d like to be able,” Sam said after a moment, “to think of him able to be happy again, happy and fulfilled.  To go there and be surrounded by that beauty, to be able to learn o’ history from them as lived it, to be accepted as one of the most wonderfulest of folks as was ever born of any race--he deserves that.  He deserves to have the sunlight awaken him of a mornin’ without fear of the shadow of the darkness he still feels now.  He ought to be a part of the singin’ again, and able to dance once more.  He’s not been for a swim for ever so long, you know.  If he could know healing there....”

          Frodo stirred against him, looking up into his eyes.  “Nothing is certain, Sam, not even there in the Undying Lands.  And my heart is here.” He turned his head on Sam’s shoulder.  “My heart is here, here in the Shire,” he murmured as his eyes closed once more.

Dealing with Guilt

          They remained with the Elves that night also, and during that time Elrond ministered to him.  At one point he and several Elves from Imladris disappeared into the forest for a time, and on their return they brought fresh herbs, not the ones, Sam noted, that had been sent before Frodo’s trip to Michel Delving.  It was with these and directions on how they were to be used that Sam at last agreed to return to Bag End with his Master. 

          The return was swifter than the going, as if now he’d taken leave of Bilbo Frodo wished to crowd what he could into what time he might have left.  To find that the smial was filled was a surprise, although Sam realized it ought not to have been one.

          “Mr. Brendilac arrived first, you see,” Rosie told them, “and then Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and old Gandalf.  He’s lingerin’, he says, to speak with Master Frodo afore he leaves.”

          “And where’s he going?” Sam asked.

          Frodo turned his head away, his eyes weary.  “To Aman, Sam--back to his home.  So, he alerted Merry and Pippin, did he?”

          “And then the Thain and his Lady, and the Master and Mistress--they come together from Buckland.  And Missus Ivy Boffin arrived this afternoon with Miss Narcissa.”

          Frodo’s eyes widened with alarm.  “Why did they come?” he demanded.

          “They heard somethin’, or so it seems,” Rosie explained.  “I believe as Mr. Folco’s comin’ in a day or two, from what they said.”

          “It appears that, no matter what my wishes are, I’m to have a birthday party of sorts after all,” Frodo said, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Although what kind of birthday party is it when the host must perforce leave in the midst of it?”  A tear escaped him, just as Sam found himself inexplicably starting to laugh.  Rosie and Frodo looked at him aghast, only to see he couldn’t help himself at all. 

          Sam sank down on the bench and held his sides.  “Of all I could ever imagine,” he finally choked out, “who’d a’thought of such a thing--that those as love you best would descend on you like this, leavin’ you with no way to hide from them?  Oh, my Master, they love you, and you must face the fact as none of them is lackin’ in brains.  You’ve tried to hide it, but you can’t--you can’t at all.  Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin--they’d already told me, last time as they was here together, they were comin’ for the sixth.  The other night when the Thain and Master and their ladies was here, they could see the truth of it.”  The laughter had faded and tears were now forming.

          “And we already have Freddy and Budgie due to arrive the fourth,” Frodo said with pain in his voice as he sat down heavily beside him.  “They’re the only ones I agreed to have come.”

          “You plannin’ on send us off again, as you did last March?” Sam asked shrewdly.  He noted that Frodo’s cheeks became markedly pink, for a moment at least.  “That would of been terrible hard, you know.”  He turned and knelt down to take Frodo’s hands in his.  “It’s not as if it was new to me, Master.  I mean, I was there last time as I’d thought you’d died.  Why, anyone would of thought as you were dead then, even Mr. Gandalf, I think.  No breath, couldn’t feel the heart even flutterin’, your skin gone bluish.  At least--at least....”  He couldn’t finish.

          “At least this time it will be natural?” asked Gandalf, who’d come with Elanor from the dining room where the others were gathered.  “And yes, you were there the last time--the last three times he’s come close to passing through the Gates, to be precise.”  He held the child out to Frodo, who withdrew his hands from Sam’s to take her and hold her close to his face.

          Gandalf examined the Hobbit for a time, his eyes infinitely sad.  “So, you would not accept the gift offered by all of us, would you?”

          Frodo gave a small, delayed shake of his head, burying his face in Elanor’s gown.

          “Is it because you don’t feel worthy, Frodo Baggins?”

          A shrug.

          “Is it because you fear to sully those lands by coming to them a mortal, one who has blood on his hands?”

          For a time there was no answer, and then at last the hint of a nod.

          Paladin Took had followed Gandalf, and now came to his side to look down on his younger cousin.  “I told the others to stay put, although Merry and Pippin are anxious to come to your side.  They are very distressed, distressed because you haven’t told them the truth of your condition, because you hid from them the fact this gift was offered, because you’ve not admitted your own fears to them, because you’ve tried to deny them the right--the right to see you off at the end, the right to tell you how very much they love you.  Do you truly think you could deny us all that right, Frodo Baggins?”

          Frodo’s shoulders were shaking as he wept into Elanor’s gown.  At last they could hear, the tone muffled, “I don’t want to have to----”

          “To say goodbye?” finished Gandalf gently after it became obvious Frodo could say no more.  He set his hand on Sam’s head, and indicated the gardener should move aside.  Now he knelt before Frodo, gently taking Elanor from him and giving her to her father.  The child gave a cry of protest, but quieted at a word from Sam, and looked down from his arms at the Hobbit sitting on the bench, his face now hidden in his hands.

          “Fo?” she said, her tone questioning.

          Frodo looked up sharply, surprise winning out over the near-despair he’d known but a moment before, tears running down his face.

          Sam looked down at his daughter, a tremulous smile trying to win out over his grief.  “Suppose as it’s only right,” he said as he pulled her closer to his cheek.  “First steps she took was to greet him, and now her first word is for him, too.”  He kissed her. 

          Gandalf was looking at father and daughter from his kneeling position, his eyes filled with approval.  He reached into Frodo’s pocket and brought out a handkerchief and pressed it into the Baggins’s hands.  “Here, my dear Hobbit,” he said softly.  “You need this, I think.”

          Frodo nodded absently, wiped his face, and looked back at Elanor.  “I’m here, our Elanorellë,” he whispered.  “I’m here for--for what time I have left.  I’ll not leave before I must.”  He looked around at the Wizard kneeling before him, his friend with the child in his arms, at Rosie, and at the Thain, and straightened.  His eyes lingered on those of his older cousin as he stowed the handkerchief back into his pocket.  When he spoke it was with a degree of dignity.  “I fear I am very near the end, Uncle Paladin,” he said, “but I’m not there yet.  I refuse to be smothered before my time.  No one is to try to shelter me, for after what I’ve seen done that is impossible anyway.  No one is to deny me the right to do what I feel I must in--in the days ahead.  Anyone who seeks to do so I will send away, and I believe I can count on Merry’s sword, at least, to see that order followed. 

          “Know this--over the past few months I have tried to come to terms with the knowledge I won’t follow Bilbo’s example and live a long, fulfilling life, and in the last few weeks I’ve tried to--to take my leave as I can.  It has been tearing at my heart, each time I’ve had to accept that this is the last time.  And now here you all come, and it’s all to do over again.  I don’t know if--if you can appreciate what it’s been like for me, much of this last half year.  Please--tell the others I won’t be coddled or confined to my bed or to the smial.  Please accept that if I don’t fall to and eat what is presented to me it isn’t because I’m turning away from life so much as it’s because I just can’t eat properly.  If you will insist on being here, then--then let me live as I can for as long as I can--and when the time comes, just let me go.  If--if it happens as it did last year and the year before, and much as it has in the springtime, then I fear--I fear it won’t be pretty or particularly peaceful.  But at least it will be over--at last, and it won’t have to be faced again.”

          Paladin Took nodded.  “All right, Frodo,” he said, his tone tightly controlled.  “We will do our best to behave as you’ve asked.  It’s been little enough you’ve ever asked of us, after all, save for you to be allowed to love us.  Just don’t turn away from us now.  Hopefully just our presence will help you realize that they are just memories and not real.”

          “Maybe,” Frodo said, although his expression made it plain he didn’t hold out much hope.  “Now--Gandalf and I have some talking to do before he must go on his way.  I won’t have him stay his own journey solely for my sake.”  He rose and, after giving the Thain a brief bow, led the way to the study, Gandalf following and closing the door behind them.

          Once the door’s latch was firmly heard catching, Paladin turned to Sam.  “How long does he have, do you think?”

          Sam shrugged.  “Can’t say for certain, of course, Mr. Paladin, sir,” he answered, “but the memories seem to hit on the sixth, and go on until the twenty-third, although I’m not positive as just what goes on betwixt and between, if you take my meaning.  It was on the sixth as he was stabbed with the Morgul blade, and the twenty-third as they got it out of him at the last--the splinter, I mean.  Lord Elrond and our Strider and the others was workin’ together on it, singin’ over him to slow its movement toward his heart, and at last Lord Elrond got it out of him.  Had to open the wound twice to get it finally, he did.  The first year I thought as it was just bein’ there, where he had to face those Black Riders at the ford and where he was stabbed at Weathertop, as was bringin’ on the memories, like; but last year he was memberin’, but not so bad, afore he left for Mr. Freddy’s, but it seemed to hit him while he was there.  He was sent home with a draught to take, and wouldn’t take my tea until it was almost over.  I’m not fully certain as he was really havin’ the memories on the twenty-third, even, but he was certain as it would be his last, he was--it was a relief to see him wake from it and go back to just livin’ again.”

          “And it happens in the spring, too?”

          Sam nodded.  “Starts on the day on which the spider poisoned him, and he stays feelin’ less’n himself until the twenty-fifth of March when It went into the Fire at last.  Two weeks.  Rosie’s dad and Rosie saw it year afore last, and last year don’t know proper what happened on the thirteenth as he’d sent us off to Rosie’s folks’ farm, but on the twenty-fifth I realized after this one was borned he was intolerable weak.  Was doin’ his best to hide it throughout, but he’s not truly recovered since.”

          The nod the Thain gave was identical to the one Pippin usually gave when filing a fact away in his head, Sam noted.  “I see,” Paladin said softly.  “Thank you, Sam.  Would you and Rosie mind coming in and explaining this to the others as well?  It might be better accepted if you let them know than if I try.”

          Sam thought about it and at last gave a nod, and with a look at Rose he carried Elanor back to the dining room.

          Sam was in the kitchen brewing Frodo’s draft when Gandalf at last came out of the study and joined him.  “Those don’t look like the herbs Elrond sent into the Shire during his own journey,” the Wizard noted.

          “They aren’t,” Sam answered rather shortly as he measured a pinch of one herb onto the pile he was forming on a piece of cheesecloth.  “Changed them at Frodo’s request while we was with them.”  He added a spoon of one last herb, then fastened closed the bags from which he’d taken each and set them aside before taking up the corners of the cheesecloth to twist the fabric into a loose bag.  “Those other herbs--said as they was affecting him and makin’ it hard to concentrate.  A few is still in this mix, but not some of the others as Lord Elrond said as could indeed affect his thoughts.  He doesn’t wish to miss much, what time as he’s got left.”  He set the twist of cloth and herbs in a teapot, and lifting the kettle off the fire he poured thickly steaming water into the pot and left it to steep.  Once he’d refilled the kettle and set it again over the fire he turned back to the Wizard.  “Is he right, Gandalf?” he asked.  “Is his time come indeed?”

          Gandalf sighed as he shrugged.  “I fear so, Sam.  Had he chosen to go with us we planned to be well out to sea by the sixth, allowing the aid of Lord Ulmo to reach him; and he could have seen to it the aid of the rest of the Valar would have freely reached him as well.  However, having chosen to stay here, he can receive far less.  The Song is much stronger and more vibrant in the Sea than in the Earth, you must understand.  And there is the fact that, knowing he will be struck with the memories on each anniversary of when he was worst hurt before, he would prefer this be the last of it.”

          “So, in a way he’s willin’ his own death, is he?”

          The Wizard shook his head.  “Not so much willing it as accepting the Gift now rather than later.  He’s been granted some leeway, much as when his time comes Aragorn will be able to offer back what little remains that he not die unmanned as has happened with too many of his forebears.”

          Sam spooned tea into a second pot that had been recently scalded, and checked the temperature of the kettle to judge when it would most likely be ready again.  At last he sat at the table and indicated Gandalf should follow suit.  “He don’t appear to be suffering a great deal,” he said at last.  “Not in a good deal of pain, at least, so as he can’t bear it.”

          “No,” agreed Gandalf.  “No, not a great deal of pain, but what had been a dull ache has begun throbbing.  And his heart is indeed failing him.  Not all the herbs in Middle Earth will relieve it now, and not all the love held toward him be enough to strengthen him to remain much longer.  It’s not fair, you know--not fair at all, what he’s had to live with since the two of you awoke in Ithilien; but at least he’s been able to see you and Merry and Pippin readied to take authority here when the time comes, and has seen the Shire renewed.  Envinyatar could as well be applied to him and to you as to Aragorn, you realize.”

          Sam flushed.  “I’m no one such as them!” he muttered.

          Gandalf smiled.  “You think not, son of Hamfast?  It wouldn’t be the first time Iluvatar sent nobility equal to the greatest of royalty to be fostered in a humble setting.  Samwise the Brave and Stouthearted and Faithful, are you?  Oh, indeed, and as worthy of the lordship granted you as is true of Frodo.  You will learn that the Creator has a distinct sense of humor, and enjoys hiding His greatest treasures in the most difficult places to access.  Why do you think diamonds and emeralds of great worth are found hidden in common soil and stubborn rock?”

          They were quiet for a time until Sam at last rose to retrieve the kettle and fill the second teapot.  “How long will you stay with us?” he asked.

          “A day more at most--only long enough to reassure all he’s properly taken care of.  Know this--he is not afraid of what will come, Sam.  He is ready--fully ready.  But he wishes to meet death on his own terms.”

          Sam nodded.

          Again they knew quiet between them, until at last Gandalf said, “The offer remains open for you, Sam.  I hope when the time comes you will take your own grey ship and come to Tol Eressëa.  But it will be at a time of your choosing.”

          Again Sam nodded.  At last he moved to pour a cup of tea each for himself and Gandalf.  As he set Gandalf’s cup before him he murmured, “I can’t see as yet what I’ll do when that day comes, for it’ll not come for many years, or so I hope.”  He looked up to meet Gandalf’s eyes.  “He didn’t wish for me to leave Rosie now, you know.”

          “Yes, I know.”  The Wizard set his own calloused hand over Sam’s.

          Sam noted with approval that Frodo had remained in the study.  Good--that way only two or three could approach him at a time, and not the entire family at once to overwhelm him.  Sam knocked and brought in the draught he’d prepared and set it down on Frodo’s desk, then stooped to stir the embers on the hearth and add another couple logs.

          “So,” Saradoc was saying from the sofa where he sat by Paladin Took, “you did see Bilbo, did you?  And how is he doing?”

          “As well, I suppose, as one newly turned a hundred and thirty-one can be, Uncle Sara.  He is rather frail and dozes almost constantly.  He will start a question, slip into a doze, then awake and try to finish what he’d already started to say, then sleep again for a time until he wakens to hear the answer.  Yet he is as astute as he always was, bless him.”

          “You didn’t want him to be here with you--now?”

          “Uncle Sara--I didn’t want any of you to be by me now.  I didn’t want anyone to have to see--to see what it’s like when the memories hit fully.  It was bad enough the first time, and I was fairly strong then.  The last few times....”  He shivered, and he went paler, if possible. 

          Sam examined his Master--his lips had a slight bluish tinge, and there were circles under his eyes.  The swelling that had been seen in his ankles yesterday had been gone this morning, but it was back now.  “You need to drink that, Mr. Frodo,” he advised his friend.

          “It does appear you’ve put on a bit of weight at last,” Paladin commented as Frodo picked up his mug.

          Frodo sipped and made a face before answering the Thain.  “I am told it is somewhat of an illusion, Uncle Pal.  It is the excess fluid, Lord Elrond tells me, that my body is retaining.  My heart’s beat is not as strong as it was, and so more remains within me.  It is part of--of the failure of my heart.”  He drank more deeply and looked up at Sam.  “May I have some cider to take the taste away when this is done, please, Sam?” 

          At that moment there was a tap at the door, and Gandalf stood there with a mug of cider in his hand.  “I thought you might appreciate something to take the taste away, Frodo.  From what your great-grandfather said when it was recommended for him, this draught tends to be rather bitter.”

          “Lord Elrond offered his aid to the Old Took?” asked the Thain, surprised.

          “Your great-grandfather did travel to Rivendell himself, you realize,” Gandalf advised him.  “He and Lord Elrond often conversed long into the night.  It was partly for his sake that Bilbo was welcomed as he was.  And it was for the sake of both Frodo was first welcomed there, although his own integrity and faithfulness and Sam’s have earned both more honor than any could give them.”

          At Frodo’s face the Wizard’s own expression became stern.  “And why may I not say such a thing, Frodo Baggins?”

          “Integrity, Gandalf?  What integrity did I show then?  I let It take me!  I cursed Sméagol, and he died as I said!  How many died to let me reach that place, and how many might have been saved torture and death if I’d traveled faster?”

          “And how much faster could you have traveled?  How many times did you find yourself collapsing where you stood, or fall into the nearest shadows within reach, unable to go further without some rest?  And at the end, there on the mountainside, how fast could you go then?  Did Sam not have to carry you upon his back?”

          Frodo turned his face away, his attention apparently fixed on the floor.  “If we had not stayed the night with the Rangers----”

          “If we’d not done that, how much further do you think as we’d of got?” Sam asked.  “Not as far as the Crossroads, I think.  You was so tired and fearful, you’d not of lasted many hours, if that, afore you’d of needed another stop.  And we’d of run out of food that much the sooner, you realize, if’n we’d not received what Captain Faramir give us.”

          “Plus there was the greater chance that the Haradrim would have captured you,” Gandalf pointed out as he set the mug of cider on the mantel.  “Had that happened, it’s likely the two of you would have immediately been sent southward and east to Minas Morgul so that one of the Nazgul could have carried you to Barad-dûr right away--and that would have been the end of all.”

          “But if we’d not gone with Faramir to the cavern behind the waterfall Sméagol would not have been captured and believed himself betrayed by me, and perhaps he would not have----”

          “Huh!” interrupted Sam, his laugh humorless.  “He’d already set himself to betray us, you know.  I heard him, as you well know, Stinker and Slinker arguin’ as to what to do with us, and agreein’ at last to lead us to her, which he surely did.  Mayhaps if’n I’d not called ‘im a sneak as I did, there when him and me was both took with the Light of you, there on the stairs, just maybe he’d of thought better of it, although I still believe as he’d already been up there to let her know as we was on our way, so’s she was ready when we come.  No, it would still of come to naught but what happened.  You think as the Ring wasn’t workin’ on him the whole time as he was with us?  You couldn’t fully shield even me from it, and had no hope of shieldin’ him.  It knew him, through and through, and It worked on ‘im constantly.”

          “You never told me It called to you.”

          “And add that much more to your burden of guilt?” Sam asked simply.  “Couldn’t get through to me much, but now and then I felt It, playin’ with my thoughts, pullin’ at my heart.”

          The two continued to examine one another’s eyes until at last Gandalf spoke.  “It was not your responsibility to come quickly to the Sammath Naur, merely to reach there.  That was all that was asked of you, and what you did.  Those who died while you journeyed were not and are not your responsibility.  And it would have done no good at the end if you’d hurried and blundered into more orcs on the road, more discerning ones than those who captured you briefly.  Only the fact that those who captained the troupe with whom you marched were frightened because they were already behind the time set for them to arrive at their destination kept them from noting you wore no boots and your eyes were not those of their kind.”

          For a time there was silence, Frodo seated, brooding, by his desk, Sam near him on one side of the mantel, Gandalf at the other, leaning on the door-frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Frodo’s older cousins seated on the small couch, looking at each of the other three in turn.  Just how arduous and dangerous the journey made by these two had been was hitting more firmly home in their understanding, Sam noted as he glanced briefly at them before returning his attention to his Master.

          At last Gandalf spoke again.  “I tell you again, Frodo,” he said in a compelling voice, causing Frodo to look up at him from under his brows, “you are not responsible for those others who suffered and died.  Are you responsible for those who died due to Sauron’s actions before you made your journey?  Or those who died in the attacks made recently on Gondor by the Haradrim?”  His eyes were sharply focused on the Hobbit.

          A pause.  “No,” Frodo admitted.

          “As for Gollum, did you wish for him to take the Ring from you and fall with It?”

          “No!  Certainly not!”

          “Did you wish for him to fall at all?”

          Frodo remained silent for a time, but at length answered, “No--oh, at times I wished he were dead or at least gone from us; but what--what I really wanted was for him to come back, to prove I, too, could come back from Its influence.”

          Gandalf’s expression softened as he knelt again to be at Frodo’s own level.  “You had not the power to grant him that, certainly not of your own remarkable strength, for your strength was not given you for that purpose.  Nor could you, even had you managed to truly master the Ring, have been able to use Its power to cause such a renewal, for Its strength was not in renewal but in destruction, as you know all too well.  He had held It far too long for anything you could do in the short weeks you traveled with him to bring him the redemption you wished for him.  But know this--in saving you from Its power at the last, even though his actions were mostly selfish in intent, he nevertheless found a part of what the Ring stole from him.  It stole far, far more from him than It had had time to steal from you, my friend--far, far more.  No, One far greater than you used his very weakness to the good of all, even for the good of Frodo Baggins, and rewarded him far beyond his deserving, perhaps, for in the end proving worthy to be so used.

          “You see, your acceptance of him stirred much in him, bringing back memories of simple pleasures and days spent in the reflection of the light off the river, awakening his conscience once more, reminding him of beauties he once appreciated.  Those the Ring had stolen away; but your own integrity forced It to yield them up in spite of Itself.  If the Ring stole much from you and caused you greater distress than any should suffer, know that you did little to reassure It of Its overwhelming Power.  You cannot appreciate just how much uncertainty you caused It, there in the wild, unable to reach you through images of honors and victories such as had conquered so many others, including Boromir and Saruman, Saruman who never saw It but yet heard and fell to Its call; unable to deter you with images of death and destruction and torture; unable to cause you to quail with Its threats against you, your companion, and your land.  Only in the Sammath Naur could It finally overwhelm you and take you, leading you to take It for your own.”

          “I had not the strength to wield It,” Frodo said.  “I knew that all along.”

          “Indeed, and that knowledge saved you from It along the way.  Even there a part of you knew that to be true, and laughed at the conceit that you could become the Lord of the Ring there and then; and that part was relieved when the Ring was torn away from you.  Your conscious mind was overwhelmed and in agony as Its awareness was lost at the last--seventeen and a half years it wound itself through your mind, after all.  But that one portion of you that was horrified to see It place Itself on your finger was glad when the Creator used Gollum to relieve you of It before that last bastion of integrity fell completely to It.  And so that portion of you spoke to Sam of forgiveness toward Gollum, there on the mountainside afterward when you thought you were but minutes from death.”

          Gandalf straightened and stretched a bit.  The eyes of Thain and Master, Sam noted, were fixed on the Wizard in fascination.  “There is one other thing, Iorhael,” he continued, “one other thing you should know.  I told you there that April before you left the Shire that amongst the inane babble of Sméagol when he was tortured in the dungeons of Barad-dûr there were two words to be discerned--two words of interest to us, that is--Baggins and Shire.  But there were words aimed at Sauron by Gollum, followed by words uttered by Sauron himself, who left his throne and took a form of Shadow to observe the writhing of this victim.

          “Gollum could not help voicing his thoughts aloud as he had done for five hundred years when he held It in his keeping, and a part of his thought was that he would defy this one who watched his agony--he would find the Ring and take It for himself once again, and then he would pay Sauron and his minions back for what was being done to him there.  And Sauron laughed at him--laughed at him and told him that if he were to even touch the Ring again he would himself be cast by Its power into the fire and so destroyed.”

          Frodo’s face was totally devoid of color, his mouth open in shock.  Gandalf went on.  “The Ring could see that memory in Sméagol’s mind, and used it to torture him and browbeat him and to goad him to seek to betray you.  And in the end It shared that threat with you--and you again voiced it.  And so the resentment of Sméagol grew, along with his fear, hearing such words from one he knew instinctively had not a temper to lead you to violence or empty threat.

          “For if you had been one so given, the Ring would have far more easily have taken hold of you, Frodo.  And so it was that on the journey you made you were compassed about with others to fight, others who were granted the authority to kill to protect you.  There is a reason you did no more than to cut off the hand of a wight or to stab the foot of a troll or to slash at the Witch-king’s robes--the Creator did not wish the one who carried this thing to bear the burden of proper guilt and responsibility for the deaths of others.  Such would have necessarily hardened you to the empathy needed to begin awakening Sméagol from the wreck of Gollum, and would have speeded the Ring’s taking of you.”

          “But I uttered the curse!”

          “A curse that originated from Sauron himself.  A curse the Ring had to see fulfilled, for it came from Its Master.  A curse that in the end led to the destruction of the Ring.”  Gandalf began to smile.  “Cannot you see the irony--that in the end it was the Enemy’s own curse on a weak, crawling being that led to his own undoing?”

          Color was beginning to come back to Frodo’s face, and all could see that it was as if a great burden had fallen from him.  “Then I’m not fully responsible....”

          “Indeed not, you foolish creature.  You dear, dearly beloved Hobbit.  And had you chosen to come with us this and more would have been lifted from you in time.  I fear I must rush things overmuch.  Yes, you are indeed responsible; and no, no you are not.  But how much you are responsible for and how much you are not, and for what--that I have not time enough to delve with you now--and others were intended to help you gain this knowledge, others who cannot come to you before you must accept the Gift.

          “You once told me you felt that the Shire needed some shaking up, and perhaps needed a dragon loosed on it to shake its inhabitants out of their complacency.  Well, a failed Istar and his creatures have had to serve instead.  Perhaps your own perception was a part of what brought that to be; but in the end much good has come out of it, and indeed many who had ignored the outer world and their responsibilities to all both within and without the Shire have been awakened to that knowledge and have begun opening themselves to the needs of all of Middle Earth, and not just their own concerns.  Well, Gondor needed the knowledge of the relative innocence and lightheartedness of the Shire and its inhabitants to waken it to the greater needs of all; and Aragorn could have no better examples to show his new realm than you, Sam, Pippin, and Merry.  Yes, evil happened, and perhaps more evil because you could not travel faster than you did; but far more good has come out of it due to that delay; and you are far more responsible for that good’s occurrence than you were for the evil.”

          Gandalf’s attention fixed on the mug.  “That grows cold, and this draught is better for being taken freshly brewed.  Drink it down, and then the cider, and be comforted, Iorhael.”

Acceptance

          Sam left the study to take the two mugs back to the kitchen, followed by the Thain, who stopped briefly at the door to the dining room to suggest Pippin and Merry join Saradoc Brandybuck and Frodo in the study before heading for the privy.  He found Rosie in the kitchen, being assisted by Narcissa in preparing late supper.

          Rosie was preparing the plate for Master Frodo separately from those for the others who would be present for the meal.  “So little?” Narcissa asked as Rosie set a few pieces of celery and carrot, apple and pear, on it with a sprig of cress and a slice of pickled cucumber.

          “He can’t eat a good deal more, Miss Narcissa,” Rosie explained.  “He’ll have a small bit of the meat and hot vegetables and taters, and perhaps a half a roll; but he’ll be hard pressed to eat it all, and will take a good deal longer at it than we will. It’s the way as things of been since the four of them come back, and it’s likely to be even harder for him with all these here.”

          “Perhaps Mum and I ought not to have come,” Narcissa said softly.  “I mean I don’t wish to cause him ill.  But what he said when I saw him in Michel Delving--it sounded as if he--as if he was expecting his health to go swiftly, and in the end Mum and I felt we ought to come in spite of himself.  He truly went to see old Bilbo for their birthday?”

          Brendilac Brandybuck, Frodo’s more distant cousin from Buckland, a friend and companion from their younger days together in Brandy Hall, and his personal lawyer for several years, entered with a tray filled with mugs and small cake plates used earlier by those who’d remained in the dining room as Sam took the larger kettle off the hob and began to fill the dishpan.

          “Yes, so him and my Sam both say,” Rosie said.  “Apparently many of the great Elves are sailin’ now to the Undying Lands, and old Mr. Bilbo’s goin’ with them.  And they would of took Master Frodo if’n he’d wished to go with them, but he chose to stay here instead.”  Rosie’s face was sad and a bit drawn.  “You certain as your mum don’t mind watchin’ my Elanor?”

          “Oh, she’s enchanted.  She always wanted more, you see; but apparently she was meant only to have me and no other children.  And Elanor is so truly such a lovely bairn, and so sweet tempered.  She already has both Mum and Cousin Eglantine enthralled, and the Mistress equally so, I think.  At least she’s proving a--a distraction.”

          “Oh, she and Master Frodo--the two of them love one another dear, they do.  What she’ll do when he’s gone and don’t come out of his room to give her his Elvish greeting I couldn’t begin to say.”  She eyed her husband from beneath her eyelashes.  “As for Sam ’n’ me--well, it will be right hard, it will.”

          Narcissa, a great, great, great granddaughter of the Old Took on her father’s mother’s side, nodded, her mouth slightly twisted as she checked to see whether or not the peas were ready to serve.  “I don’t know what to think.  He told me his stomach had become somewhat delicate, sometime about a year and a half back, that first spring after they returned.  And there have been some times when he’d walk into Bywater or Hobbiton in the past few months when it’s been obvious he wasn’t really well.  But to accept....”

          A few tears squeezed out in spite of her attempt to keep herself under control; she wiped at her eyes in obvious consternation and embarrassment.  “I’m sorry,” Narcissa said at last.  “I promised myself I wouldn’t behave this way, you know.”  Her voice dropped to a near-whisper.  “But I’ve loved him for so long--since we were quite young, and he’s never truly looked at me in years, not really looked at me--until now.  At Michel Delving he said it was too late for him or some such nonsense, and I didn’t truly want to believe his health was failing him until yesterday.  Then Mum suggested we should come anyway--come see, I mean.”

          Rosie sighed as she sliced the ham she’d removed from the oven.  “He’s sacrificed a good deal for us, the Master has,” she said softly, “including his yearnin’ for a family of his own.  That thing as he carried stole it from him for so long, and since he come back and It’s gone now, he hasn’t felt as he’s had enough to give.  He’s felt so empty, but has pushed on anyway.

          “And another thing to keep in mind, Miss Narcissa,” Rosie added, “you’re speakin’ of Mr. Frodo Baggins here.  When he sets out to do somethin’ worth doin’, he does it well and proper.  Always has, what I’ve seen of him.  If he doesn’t feel as he can do it right, he won’t begin it.  And he’s not felt as he could be a husband right since they come back, he hasn’t .  He’s too often not feelin’ properly hisself, has too many evil dreams as he don’t want to burden others with, too many days as he can’t eat right.  You think as he wants to have to share that with someone as he loves and wants to cherish hisself?”

          Brendilac Brandybuck, who’d lost his wife to a growth in her stomach not long after they’d married, and who’d sat himself in the settle in the corner, now spoke up, his tone filled with sadness and even some bitterness.  “And this from the one who counseled Merilinde and me to know what days of happiness we could know in the time granted us.  I’m so glad he did, Mistress Rosie; but why can’t he see it applies to himself as well?”

          Rosie turned to him, her fork and carving knife forgotten in her hands.  “Ye’ll find, Mr. Brendilac, sir, as it’s a sight easier seein’ what’s best for others than for yourself.  And since that thing took him, there just afore he lost his finger, he don’t feel worthy o’ true happiness for hisself.  Feels as if he betrayed all of Middle Earth, he does, and it don’t matter how many has told him as it was all he needed to do, to get It there to the Fire.”

          As Sam took the pan in which the ham had been cooked to wash it, Brendi and Narcissa turned to look at him.  “Is she right, Mr. Gamgee?” asked Narcissa.

          Sam turned away to the dishpan.  “Is she right?” he repeated.  “Course she’s right.  Didn’t they all tell him that, our Lord Strider, Lord Elrond, the Lady, Lord Celeborn, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Gildor, Gandalf hisself?  No one could of stood against It there, for that’s where It was made.  It was strongest there of all places in Middle Earth, and it don’t matter just how stubborn anyone was--there was Its place and It was Master there, even of Frodo Baggins.  But until now his heart hasn’t been able to accept it, no matter how much his mind’s known it was true.”

          Brendi caught Narcissa’s eye.  “He’s told me the same himself.”

          Sam glanced briefly over his shoulder at them.  “He did?  That time as you come and he was up there, up on top of the Hill?”  At the lawyer’s nod, he sighed and turned back to his work.  “He admits it hisself, yet his heart still couldn’t quite believe it.”

          Narcissa pulled a lacy handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and wiped her eye as Eglantine Took came in from the dining room with a cake plate and a sheaf of used forks.  “If there’s anything I can do to help you both, Master Sam, Mistress Rose?” Lanti asked, setting her burdens on the table by Brendi’s tray of mugs and small plates.

          Sam looked over his shoulder to see the flush rise in his wife’s cheeks.  “Oh, it’s not for the likes of you to help, Mistress Took,” Rosie began.

          The Thain’s Lady sighed as she rolled her shoulders.  “Nonsense, Mistress Rose.  Before Pal became Thain I was just a farmer’s wife, you know; and as the Thain’s Lady I’ve had to do my share of unexpected hosting of friends and relatives come at word someone beloved was failing.”  Her lip began trembling.  She straightened and lifted her chin.  “I just never expected to have to--to farewell Frodo.  And to have him try to hide it--to try to slip away....”  She couldn’t control herself anymore, and lifted her arm to press her eyes against it.  “Esme is almost torn in two.  She’s loved him like a son since his parents died.”

          Rosie met Sam’s eyes.  It was obvious that these had indeed come in love.  Sam turned toward Eglantine.  “Just know this, Mistress,” he advised her, “he may not be as strong as he was, but he’s not leavin’ us yet--not this moment.  Don’t go a’diggin’ his grave until he’s actually dead, or you’ll drive him to it early.”  He felt his own chin trying to tremble, and turned away to hide it.  In the reflection in the window he could see Narcissa Boffin move forward toward the Mistress of the Great Smial and embrace her.

          Shortly after, Rosie indicated all was ready to bring to the dining room, and Eglantine and Narcissa went first to advise the others, each carrying a bowl to set on the table.  Having dried his last mug, Sam dried his hands on a rough towel, and rolling down his sleeves he went to the study to call those gathered there, Brendilac following.

          Pippin was standing by the fireplace, tear tracks still to be seen on his cheek.  Saradoc and Merry sat on the study sofa in almost identical poses, and Gandalf sat on the floor between the sofa and Frodo in his desk chair.  “And the Rangers said there weren’t any signs of any others threatening the border on that side,” Pippin was saying.  He stopped as Sam appeared in the doorway, apparently glad of the distraction.

          “Dinner’s goin’ on the table, sirs,” Sam said rather formally.  “If’n you’ll come.”  He looked at Frodo.  “Unless you’d prefer to eat in here, Mr. Frodo.  I could bring you a plate.  Rosie’s been fixin’ up one special for you, if you want.”

          Frodo glanced at his cousins on the sofa, then returned his attention to Sam.  “No, Sam, I won’t need that.  I’ll come to the table with you.”  So saying, he rose and led the way from the room, Sam stepping aside to allow the others to go first.

          The four Travelers and Gandalf remained on their feet to observe the Standing Silence, then sat as Rosie started the serving of the meal.  They were all quiet as they ate for quite some time, all of them giving Frodo quick glances as if reassuring themselves he was still with them.  His plate was nowhere as full as those of the others, and on it sat mostly fruits and vegetables, they noted, although a bowl of mushrooms fried with bacon sat by it.  Frodo ate slowly and somewhat deliberately, although he was noting the glances cast his way.

          Gandalf finally broke the silence.  “I’ve never known a gathering of Hobbits ever to be this quiet.  Usually it is difficult to make oneself heard.”

          Frodo looked deliberately around the table, then answered with a marked tone of irony, “Well, it can be difficult to speak when the object of everyone’s concern is sitting before them all.”

          The Wizard laughed.  “You’ll not go until you have to, you most persistent of Bagginses.  And it is good to see you eat somewhat fully.”

          “I’ve been slowly building up my appetite again, although I doubt it’s as good as it was there in Minas Tirith, even.”  After a time he said, “I think I will miss you as much as will Aragorn.”

          “My time in Middle Earth is over, Frodo.  Although I’d not counted on you reaching the West before I did.”  His expression was solemn.  “I’d so wished you to go with us and know peace and healing once more.  Not,” he sighed, “that you won’t find that anyway.  You are as deeply beloved there as you are here, Iorhael.”

          Frodo looked down at his plate.  “I wish I could feel that more fully true, but am comforted by your words, Olórin.”

          Gandalf gave him an intense look, and Sam noted a hint of a satisfied smirk at the corner of Frodo’s mouth.  “Trust you, Frodo Baggins, to have learned that of my names.  And how long have you known it?”

          “Captain Faramir told us, there in Henneth Annun,” Sam told him.  “Said as you told him years ago, when he was a lad.”

          Gandalf looked between the two of them, and gave a laugh.  “Another of the brighter ones I’ve been allowed to mentor,” he said, giving a slight shake to his head.  “So many of the brightest souls of mortals I’ve known live now, at the end of my time here in your lands.  I grieve to leave you as much as you and Elessar grieve to see me go.  At least I will have Bilbo by my side, or so I hope.  I was almost surprised not to see the two of you supporting him into Bag End.”

          “I didn’t wish him to remain, and he agreed to go to represent the folk of the Shire.”

          “Bless the old fellow.”

          “Indeed.”

          Frodo looked at the wine decanter sitting on the dresser in the corner, and Sam rose hastily to fetch it and set it before him.  Frodo opened it and poured a small measure into his wine goblet, then passed the bottle to Saradoc on his left.  When all had poured themselves some, Frodo rose and took a deep breath.  “I hadn’t intended to host such a gathering again, and am sorry that you have felt bound to come to my side now.  I recognize that you have come out of love for me, and I am surprised to realize how glad I am you’ve done so in spite of me.  Please forgive me, and bear with me as you can.”  He took another breath, then lifted his glass.  “To Bilbo and those who accompany him.  May he shine brightly there.”

          Gandalf rose, and all looked up as they also stood up.  “To the Ring-bearers,” the Wizard pronounced solemnly as he raised his own glass.

          With a glance at the ring Gandalf wore, Sam added, “To all of the Ring-bearers, then.”

          Gandalf gave another smile and laughed.  “Oh, all right--that I’ll accept.  To all of the Ring-bearers.”

          All raised their glasses, and with a murmured “Ring-bearers” or “to Bilbo” they all drained their goblets, although few enough present understood the interplay. 

          Frodo drank his wine and sat down, looking at the empty goblet.  “Círdan gave you the Ring of Fire, then?” he asked with a brief sidelong look at the Wizard.

          “You are a discerning one, aren’t you?” Gandalf responded.  “When did you first see it?”

          “As I awakened in Imladris.  I didn’t see it--or rather I didn’t truly notice it much--most of the time after that, but I knew it was there.  But I never thought about it until--until I saw it flaring there on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm as you faced the Balrog.  I’d noted the ring Lord Elrond wore from the first I saw him after I awoke, but I didn’t realize its significance until I spoke with the Lady over her Mirror.  Only when she admitted she wore Nenya did I finally understand you wore Narya and Lord Elrond Vilnya.  She told me I could only see her ring because I had worn It.”  He looked curiously at Sam.  “When did you first see Gandalf’s ring, Sam?”

          “When I woke up in Ithilien with him standin’ over me, laughing so.  And when the great Elves arrived in Minas Tirith with the Lady Arwen, I saw that on Lord Elrond and the other as Lady Galadriel wore, and I realized then they’d been there the whole time.  Rather muddling, if you take my meanin’, realizin’ what the little wearing of Sauron’s horror’d allowed me to see.”

          “So much for millennia of secrecy,” Gandalf sighed.

          “And actually,” Frodo said as he toyed with a slice of carrot, “I learned your name in Lorien, hearing the laments sung for you.  I couldn’t understand all that was sung of you, but it appears those there knew who and--and what you are, and have known for quite some time.”

          “Ah, yes.  Well, you see, I arrived in Middle Earth at about the time your ancestors were coming across the Misty Mountains from the valley of the Anduin where you apparently awoke, for it was there I had always found you before....”

          Esmeralda Brandybuck sat up straight.  “Before you came you’d found our people there?  How is that?”

          Frodo had a slight smile on his face.  “He’s more than he seems, Aunt Esme.  Always has been.”

          Narcissa asked, “You mean that you’re an Elf?”

          Frodo gave a slight laugh.  “No, more than an Elf, also.  Not many of his kind have visited the Mortal Lands and allowed themselves to be seen and known, but five were sent to us in the guise of Wizards, although two have become lost to knowledge, and one has fallen.”  With that last his face lost its laughter, and great grief could be seen there.  “That he could have fallen so....”

          “You did all you could to offer him the chance to awaken again, Frodo.  However, even in defeat and following the fall of Sauron himself when his atrocity was destroyed, Saruman still desired to take power over someone, and had too much thought for vengeance to grasp at the great line you threw his way.  As it has been your choice to remain here or sail, so it was his choice whether or not to grasp that lifeline offered through you.  He did not, and so he sank and was lost, his hands folded over his chest to the last, unwilling to accept any grace to the end.”

          “And you mourn him?”

          “And I mourn him.”

          “And before you came to Middle Earth as a Wizard you had visited it before?” Paladin Took asked, his eyes as fascinated as were those of his son.

          Gandalf gave a great and rather ostentatious sigh.  Pippin laughed.  “Remember, Gandalf, I told you I wished to know all the history of Middle Earth and the stars and the Sundering Sea and all.  Well, it was from my own father that I inherited my curiosity.  We’re all descended from the Old Took, you realize.”

          Gandalf threw back his head and laughed with the merriment and joy and humor that Pippin and Sam had seen so often bubbling just under his skin, and soon all were laughing with him with abandon, although Frodo appeared to be keeping his hold on sobriety a bit more surely than the rest, his eyes remaining fixed on the Wizard’s face.  At last Gandalf drew out of his robes a great kerchief and wiped his eyes.  “Ah, yes--to have a room filled with the progeny of Gerontius and so much natural Took--and Fallohide--curiosity!  I was lost before I’d even begun!”  He straightened as he stowed the kerchief, smiling fully at Paladin Took, who flushed like a lad, but didn’t quail in the face of Gandalf’s revealed brightness.  “Yes, I’d visited Middle Earth before, and in several guises and seemings, and saw the Fallohides in their woodland home where they frequently kept company with Elves,” he turned toward the Brandybucks where father and son sat side by side, “and I visited in the smials of the Stoors where they lived along the banks of the Great River and traded with Men,” now he turned toward Rosie and Sam where they sat together with Elanor’s high chair between them, “and I would sojourn up the slopes of the foothills of the Mountains of Mist to the abodes and fields of the Harfoots where they lived in fellowship with the Dwarves.  And all within this room are such a delightful mixture of all three of the original strains--yes, even you, Samwise Gamgee!  Even you are taller than average for a Hobbit, and with your hair tending toward the dark gold so often seen amongst the Fallohides, even if you are not descended from the first to bear the name of Tûk you nevertheless have your fair share of Fallohide, as does your lovely wife and the daughter you’ve produced between you.”

          He smiled at them all.  “I’m not certain when your ancestors awoke, but when the dark years were over, there you were to be found, there in the valley of the Anduin, the smallest of the mortal Children of Iluvatar, but no less dear than were any of the others.  We were aware of you, of course, and I at least was as curious about your people as you have been about me tonight.  But I’ve ever been drawn to the Children of Iluvatar, which is a great deal of the reason why I was sent to Middle Earth as one of the Istari.”

          “You were sent--you didn’t choose for yourself?” asked Frodo, as if this was important to him.

          “Only one offered himself freely when the decision was made to send such aid to the Free Peoples, Frodo.  Each of the rest of us was asked if we would accept this mission.  And I was not the one who offered.  But I did not come because it was asked of me in the end, but because I felt I was meant to be here--that it was right and proper that I should stand against Sauron, just as Manwë stood against Melkor.”

          “And you were the last to arrive,” the pale Hobbit sighed.  “I found the records in Imladris, although I read it first in the copies Bilbo made of Lord Elrond’s journals for his own library.”

          “They obviously saved the best for last,” Merry observed, earning him a twinkling smile from the Wizard.  “And I’m glad all of Bilbo’s books were sent to Crickhollow--once the Brandybucks realized the nature of the new order of things and sabotaged the ferry and the Bridge, and made the roads all but impassable, the Gatherers and Sharers never made it to there to find those books to bring to Saruman.”

          Narcissa asked, “Your things weren’t gone through by Lotho and Sharkey’s people, then, Frodo?”

          “No--nothing that was sent to Crickhollow was lost.  Most of Buckland they couldn’t get into, you see.  It was that injustice that led me to seek to have all goods returned as I could.  What Sharkey was seeking I took away with me, and the knowledge he wanted was partly in the books Bilbo copied from the library of Lord Elrond.  It wasn’t fair that you should have had to suffer due to what they wanted from the possessions Bilbo left to me.”  He sighed, then after taking one more bite of his mushrooms he rose and went to the dresser and opened a drawer, bringing back to the table a painted porcelain salt cellar with a lid to it that he set before Gandalf before returning to his seat.  “We weren’t certain what to do with this--one of the few recognizable things we found when we--when we cleared away what was left, there after Wormtongue killed him.  No one really wanted to deal with it, the remains, so they sat there until the next morning, although a Bounder and a Shiriff were set to watch them that none seek to--to do anything too awful with them.  Then Pippin and Merry saw to the--the removal themselves.  We buried it near the Three Farthing Stone, as close to the center of the Shire as possible, that the joy of life of the Shire might counter whatever malice might linger.  Wormtongue and the Men who died were buried in an old sand pit, but with such respect as we could offer them.  I felt so sorry for Wormtongue, you see, and so wish those who shot him hadn’t been so swift off the mark.  And I don’t care he was a murderer perhaps several times over,” he said to Sam in what was clearly intended to head off the remarks he knew the gardener wished to say publicly.  “None of those I had hoped might find easing and redemption lived to receive it--save for Lobelia.”  He gave a soft, truly sweet smile.  “She did learn at the last.”  His face saddened.  “But to have her finally understand only after Lotho betrayed us all, including himself, and after learning he’d died so--that was more than any ought to have borne.”

          “Indeed, Iorhael,” Gandalf said gently.  “Were you able to see her again after her release?”

          Frodo shook his head.  “No, for neither she nor I was able to do much in the way of traveling.  It was all I could do many weeks to make the journey on Strider from Bywater or here to Michel Delving and back, much less to Hardbottle; and her health had definitely suffered as a result of her imprisonment.  Hyacinth did well by her, though.  She had comfort and love by her, and the one letter I had from her I’ve saved.”

          Brendi smiled sadly.  “Rico Clayhanger told me she did the same with your letters to her, Frodo, and would have Hyacinth read them to her daily.”

          Frodo appeared surprised.  “Did she really?”

          Saradoc Brandybuck smiled.  “Benlo Bracegirdle had told me the same.  He said your letters to her seemed to give her a great deal of comfort.”

          “How odd,” Frodo murmured.  He looked back at Gandalf.  “I remembered what you told at the Council of how Saruman had boasted he was now a maker of Rings as well.  The only ring we found was that one, the one he was wearing.  Is there really any power to it?”

          Gandalf looked at Frodo with some concern.  “You haven’t handled it yourself, have you?”

          Frodo gave a shake of his head.

          “Young Pando fetched it to me after they carried away what was left of the body,” Sam explained.  “He had a grimace on his face like he was holdin’ somethin’ awful, so I brought that out of Bag End to have somethin’ to put it in so none would have to touch it.  The salt cellar must of been one of Missus Lobelia’s, for it’s not one as I recognize.”

          “Nor I,” Frodo agreed.

          Gandalf lifted the cover and looked down on the ring within.  It was made of gold, but with a more silver sheen to it than one usually saw in the metal.  There were engravings of serpent shapes upon it--not, however, anywhere similar to those on the Ring of Barahir, but instead sinister shapes that wound together and almost formed recognizable symbols.  He used the tip of his knife to turn it, and spat out something in Adunaic.  “The fool!” he finally said in Westron.  “It is a spell to enhance his speech to make it even more persuasive, but he drew some of the serpents reversed--in the end the spell worked to his own undoing.  I must assume he had it from his chosen master, and ignored the fact that one of Sauron’s titles was ever the Liar.”  He looked up to catch Frodo’s gaze.  “Celebrimbor would have disdained it, Frodo.”  He dug the point of the knife into the metal, and nodded with relief.  “The metal is quite soft--a blacksmith’s forge could be used to flatten it and undo it.  I will see to it in the morning.  It will do no further harm to lie here one more night, I think.  And before I leave the Shire I will visit his grave and see what I can do to add to the protections placed on it by your people.”

          “Thank you,” Frodo said.  He sighed and leaned back, his hand lifting to rub at his shoulder, a grimace of pain on his face.  “I will bathe and go to bed,” he murmured.  “I grieve to leave you all, but I have ridden further today than I have done at one time in several months.”

          “I’ll see to him,” Brendi said swiftly to forestall Sam’s rising.  “I have a few things I wish to say to my client and cousin this evening.”

          Frodo looked into the lawyer’s eyes, and nodded.  “Very well then,” he said as he rose.  Brendi set aside his napkin as he, too, rose, and placing himself firmly by Frodo’s side he went with him out of the room.

          All watched after them for a moment before Gandalf cleared his throat.  “You were wondering, Sam, how it was my name was known among the Galadhrim.”

          Sam gave a nod as he returned his attention to the Wizard.  “I think as I might understand the way of it, though.  The Lady--she was born there in Aman, right?  Back in the time of the Trees?”

          “Yes.”

          “Then she’d of recognized you once you come here, then.”

          Gandalf smiled his agreement.

          Esmeralda Brandybuck at last looked away from the door to Gandalf’s face.  “He isn’t as--as troubled as he was when he came to Brandy Hall, or even as he was when we had dinner with him last.”

          Paladin glanced first at Gandalf, then back to her.  “He doesn’t feel as burdened with guilt as he was, Esme.  Gandalf was able to reassure him earlier that--that all ended better for that Gollum creature than he’d thought, and that the curse he uttered wasn’t his originally, but had come first from Sauron, and was put into his mind by the Ring.”

          She let go a pent-up breath.  “I’m glad for him,” she said softly.  “He doesn’t need to bear needless guilt and griefs now.”

          “Agreed,” Gandalf assured her.  “If my coming has done no more than bring your sons here and accomplish that--and rid Arda of such abominations as this--” with a pointed glance at the covered salt cellar, “then I cannot count my delay in rejoining the others wasted.”

          “Where’s Shadowfax?” asked Sam, suddenly realizing he’d not asked that.

          “I left him in the Party Field, although last I saw he was going into the woods at the bottom of the Hill, perhaps to get a drink from the stream there.  He appears to enjoy wooded areas, which is an odd preference for one of his kind; but he also seems to appreciate there are few large predators in your land likely to stalk him there.”

          “I see,” Sam said.  “A wonder he is, Shadowfax.  He goin’ all the way with you?”

          “Yes.  He has distant relatives there who are eager to be reunited with those of their kindred who lingered here after the War of Wrath.”

          Rosie rose and went to fetch the afters, and Narcissa went with her to get the stack of cake plates and sheath of forks Sam had cleaned earlier, and all finished their meal.  When Sam looked into Frodo’s room as he carried his slumbering daughter to her crib in the nursery across the passage from the master bedroom he saw Frodo propped up on the extra pillows he’d been gathering to his room, still talking quietly with Brendilac Brandybuck, Brendi holding his cousin and employer’s hand.  When he came out after seeing Elanor changed and tucked into her crib he found Eglantine and Esmeralda standing at the door exchanging a few words with Brendi before they went in to speak with Frodo themselves.  Narcissa and Ivy Boffin were helping Rosie in the kitchen.

          “I’m not certain just why I came,” Ivy was saying, “save my lass here needed to understand just why Frodo never looked at her seriously after the Party.”

          “He couldn’t,” Brendi said as he followed Sam into the kitchen and again sat out of the way on the corner settle.  “The Ring stole that ability away from him while he kept It in his pocket.”

          “And this was Sauron’s Ring?” Ivy asked.  “How on earth did It end up here in the Shire, and in the keeping of Frodo Baggins?  I take it somehow Bilbo was involved?”

          Brendi looked an inquiry at Sam, and briefly Sam explained about Bilbo’s fall in the darkened cavern beneath the Misty Mountains and how he’d managed to put his hand right on the thing.

          “So, he did find a magic ring that made him invisible, then?  And it wasn’t just a story?”

          “Definitely not just a story, Missus Boffin,” Sam assured her.  “Gandalf convinced old Mr. Bilbo to leave It to Mr. Frodo, you see, after the Party.  Was certain as It was to blame for Mr. Bilbo not agin’ proper and his restlessness and all, and was all for Mr. Bilbo gettin’ well away from It.  But he counseled my Master not to put It on at all, no matter what, or so it seems.

          “Then, after him and Strider’d finally tracked down that Gollum and he’d been to the archives in Minas Tirith, Mr. Gandalf come back here and told my Master he’d best leave as quick as he could, but to do it so’s no one’d realize as he was fleein’ with the Ring; so Mr. Frodo arranged to sell Bag End to Mr. Lotho and Missus Lobelia and we took off for Buckland.  Only us three wouldn’t let him go alone--we’d been spyin on him, like, and knew what it was he’d been carryin’ and that he needed to get to Rivendell with It.  So we insisted as we was goin’ with him, and we left through the Old Forest.”

          “Only you didn’t stop at Rivendell?”

          “No, we didn’t end it there.”

          “And you two went--went to--to--Mordor?”

          Sam reluctantly nodded his assent.

          “How awful!  And he was carrying It with him the whole time?  No wonder he’s not been properly well since you came back.  And you say the two of you didn’t get proper food?”

          “Nor water, Mistress.  Not for ever so long.”

          She sighed.  “I’d heard the gossip that when he was small his heart wasn’t strong, although children born that way often seem to grow out of it.  But now I see perhaps in this case that Lobelia was, for once, telling the truth.  But I don’t see how it could have been so bad, as fine a dancer as he was and as much as he traveled on foot around the Shire, with old Bilbo or by himself or with the rest of his lad friends.”

          “I don’t think as it was so bad, not until we was on our own journey.  Lord Strider and Lord Elrond both said as it would of been bad for anyone’s heart, havin’ to deal with that thing for so long on so hard a journey.  And he was bad hurt so many times along the way, you see.  His scars aren’t as obvious as the ones the rest of us have, but they’re there.”

          “I see,” she said, looking down into the dishpan.  Narcissa’s face was white and strained.

          After Narcissa had wiped the last pot and Sam had seen all put away, Brendi sighed.  “He agrees now, Narcissa, that he ought to have opened to the possibility of a love between you earlier, when he first returned.  But he was at first in shock still at the state of the Shire when they got back, and then working at seeing things set right.  Then he was recovering from that first spring bout of the memories and uncertain what that meant.  He never truly recovered from the last one, last spring, and there’s--there’s no question now his heart is indeed failing.”

          She sighed, then nodded her understanding.

          When Sam wandered out to find the rest of the menfolk, Brendi followed after him once more, and they found the rest gathered on the pavement outside the front door, smoking and talking quietly in the starlight.  Sam fetched his own pipe out, as did the lawyer.  They weren’t discussing Frodo now, but instead how the Shire would open up to the outside world.

          “I’m very impressed with this Lord Halladan who’s in charge of the kingdom here in the north,” Saradoc commented.  “And if the King’s anything like him we’ll be well enough served.  After all, I understand they are cousins.”

          “They’re wonderful folk, Aragorn’s kin here in Eriador,” Merry sighed.  “We all spoke a good deal on the return trip, especially once we parted from Aragorn there at the Gap.”

          “Strider wants to trade for potatoes and other root vegetables that grow better here than there in the southlands, Da,” Pippin continued, “root vegetables and our cloth and porcelains as well.  We have a ready market.”

          Gandalf sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees as he smoked and listened to the talk amongst the Hobbits.  As he caught Sam’s eye he winked and smiled, his head nodding reassuringly.

Looking Toward Rest

          Once abed Sam dozed for a short time, then woke and lay there, restless until at last Rosie turned to look at him.  “Go on with you,” she said.  “You’ll not have many more chances, I fear.”

          Sam sighed and nodded, and rolled to kiss and embrace her, then slid out of bed.  However, instead of reaching for his dressing gown he reached instead for his Elven cloak and slipped it on, then quietly went down the passage to the next door, opened it, and went in. 

          Frodo lay, pale in the starlight that shone in through the window--no headache tonight, thought Sam, grateful for small blessings.  As had been true much of the time lately he lay back against several pillows that raised his torso somewhat.  For one who’d always preferred sleeping on his side Sam suspected this must be almost uncomfortable, certainly unnatural, for the older Hobbit.  Quietly he took one of the chairs from before the fireplace and set it in the corner, then taking Frodo’s favorite oversized shawl off the back wrapped it around him for added comfort and sat back in it.  Frodo’s breathing seemed easier than it had been the three nights they’d been away from Bag End, and Sam trusted it was the easing of Frodo’s heart by Gandalf’s counsel that had granted this greater soothing. 

          Sleepin’ like a little lad, he is, Sam thought.

          He’d not sat there long before the door quietly creaked open again, and a curly head peered in, then was joined by another.  Without speaking two forms clad in softly glimmering nightshirts stole into the room and approached the bed, one going around the foot to come at it from the other side.  Sam found himself smiling as the two cousins on either side of the bed contemplated how best to insinuate themselves into it.

          There was a sigh from Frodo.  “Well, I must say I’ve waited longer than I’d thought to for you two to come in,” he said.  “Get in--no, wait, Merry mine.  What do you think, Samwise Gamgee, is there room for the four of us here?”

          Merry and Pippin turned in surprise, peering into the darkened corners of the room.

          “I thought as you was asleep, Master,” Sam said as he rose.

          “With you slipping in to keep watch over me?  And, as I said, I rather expected these two.  Whose bed is Gandalf sleeping in, then?”

          “Mine,” Pippin admitted.  “I said I’d sleep with Merry so he could have one of the longer ones.”

          “Very thoughtful,” Frodo responded, turning his head toward his younger cousin.  He then looked back at Sam.  “What do you think, Sam?  Shall we make it a foursome tonight?  I think it will be comforting for all of us.”

          In moments the shawl and Sam’s cloak from Lorien were draped over the arms of the chair, and all four of them squeezed onto Frodo’s bed, Merry on the side toward the window, Frodo next, Sam on his other side, and Pippin on the end toward the doorway.  “Why all the pillows and cushions, Frodo?” Pippin asked.

          “It’s easier to breathe if I don’t lie flat, or so I’ve found.  And Elrond said that it was best I do so, also.”

          “They had cushions to ease him the last two nights.  Don’t know as where they all come from, but they had ’em when they was needed,” Sam said softly, sliding his arm between the pillows to have it around Frodo’s shoulder.

          “Best not do that,” Frodo cautioned, “or you’ll awake with your arm still asleep.  Believe me--after years of having younger cousins slip into bed with me after bad dreams, I know.”

          “Nonsense,” Sam yawned.  “As light as you are now, Mr. Frodo, you’re no burden at all.”

          Frodo turned his head further to smile into Sam’s eyes, then angled himself to curl as well as he could into Sam’s embrace.  Sam could feel the body of his Master relax further as true sleep took him, and he was glad.

          However, Frodo had been correct about the arm going to sleep, a discomfort Sam gladly endured for his friend’s sake.

 *******

          Frodo ate a light breakfast with the others, and again retreated into the study, calling for Brendi to come with him, allowing only Gandalf to sit in on the consultation.  At second breakfast he accepted only some fruit and the draught Sam presented to him, following it with a cup of apple juice.  He walked out into the garden with Narcissa, where they talked and enjoyed the last of the roses and dahlias and autumn crocuses, then returned to the study where Rosie had left a mug of Sam’s athelas tea and a second of rosehip tisane and a plate of nuts and celery stuffed with cheese for them to share.  There Frodo opened up the Red Book, searching out the lay Aragorn had recited for them at Weathertop, then the Lay of Nimrodel, going on to read to her a good part of their visit to Lothlorien until elevenses.

          He then went to the parlor where he sat holding Elanor and speaking with Narcissa and his aunts while Rosie went about her chores, assisted by Ivy Boffin, until luncheon was ready.

          He took his nap with Elanor lying next to his hip, his hand against her shoulder, and woke, markedly quiet but apparently at peace, a time later.  Gandalf had fetched Strider, Jewel, Stybba, Bill, Thrush, and a couple other ponies rented from the Ivy Bush, and at a whistle Shadowfax, who’d been grazing much of the day in the Party Field, came from near the mallorn tree up the lane to Gandalf’s side.  Soon all the gentlehobbits were mounted, and they rode off to the Three Farthing Stone to examine the last resting place of Sharkey.

          Afterwards Sam couldn’t truly say what it was that Gandalf did, but certainly he shone with a distinctly blue Light as he stood singing in a soft voice over the grave, his eyes closed, the fine white staff held in his right hand as his left hand made movements in the air over the resting place for Saruman’s bones.  That all felt something seem to snap over the surprisingly small plot of land was obvious as all shifted markedly, and seemed freer somehow as they moved once the song was done.  Only Frodo appeared sadder as they returned to Bag End, and he didn’t remain up for dinner, instead retreating to his room and going to bed once he’d accepted the second draught for the day.  Sam and Esmeralda took a mug of soup to him, shortly after supper was over.  For Esme’s sake he drank some of it, but he was all too soon shaking his head.  “I’m sorry, Aunt Esme, but I can’t seem to accept any more right now.”

          “Perhaps you shouldn’t have gone with the others,” she suggested.

          “I know it wasn’t necessary,” he admitted, “but I felt I ought to do so anyway.  He started out well, at least.”  He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling.  “How one created to stand in the Presence could fall so far still disturbs me to the depth of my soul.  It could so easily have happened to me, though--indeed, it almost happened to me.”

          There was a knock at the door to the bedroom, and quietly Gandalf entered.  “I must go now, Frodo.  Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”

          Frodo smiled as he shook his head.  “No--just stay by Bilbo, and help him know the delights of Elvenhome for me.  I only hope he can stay awake for it.”

          Gandalf laughed.  “You need not worry for that.”

          “And when Legolas comes--stand by to comfort him.  I don’t know how he’ll take Aragorn’s death, or more importantly, the Lady Arwen’s.  To watch one he’s always thought of as one of his own people accept death won’t be easy, I fear.”

          “I believe Gimli will choose to accompany him, which will give him great comfort.”

          “Until he chooses to accept the Gift and--and go wherever it is the Children of Mahal go.  But then Legolas will be there, on Tol Eressëa, and that should help him greatly when that time comes.”

          “Yes, as usual you are correct, Iorhael.”  The Wizard approached the bed and knelt by it, took Frodo’s hands and held them, and murmured to him in subdued Sindarin.  Now and then Frodo would answer him, and at last nodded.  The Wizard inclined his white head over that of the Hobbit, and gently, almost reverently kissed his brow.  “Rest well, mellon nín,” he murmured.  “And when you do go, go out in joy.”

          Frodo smiled up at him, and for a moment both seemed to shine in the dim light of the bedroom.  “May your voyage go well.”

          As Gandalf reached to take up his staff from where he’d laid it on the floor he looked up ruefully.  “I fear I shall be very bored.  I’d planned to tell you many a tale, and now I shall be left to the company of too many who’ve heard them all before.”

          All laughed as Gandalf rose to his considerable height.  “Mistress Esmeralda,” he smiled, giving her a most gracious bow, “I look forward to hearing all about how you’ve spoiled your grandchildren when Sam comes to me at last.”

          “He’s still not asked her,” Frodo sighed.  “I’d hoped he’d speak by now, after all, and give me that satisfaction to take with me.  But if she comes with her brother----”

          Gandalf flashed a smile at the Hobbit.  “He’s assisted many another to follow their hearts.  I’m certain that when the proper time comes Meriadoc Brandybuck will follow his own.”  He examined Frodo’s face for a moment.  “I see you intend to be a part of it, no matter where your own spirit may roam.”

          “Of course.  After all, he, too, is like a brother to me, my Merry mine.  I’m only sorry I won’t be present to see Uncle Sara preside this time.”

          “Don’t be so certain, Frodo Baggins,” the Wizard sniffed.  “You’ll be surprised at what is permitted and even encouraged.”  He turned toward the gardener.  “Will you walk out with me, Sam?”

          Merry and Pippin looked up from the draught board they’d been sitting over unmoving for the past half hour, apparently relieved to see the Wizard come out at last.  They rose hastily and followed Sam and Gandalf out the door.  Together they walked down the hill in the gathering dusk, stopping at the turn of the lane.  “It is here, apparently,” Gandalf said quietly, “that our Fellowship ends, here in the heart of the Shire, as this land looks to lose, unknowingly for the most part, one of its own brightest Lights.  I know he would have left it anyway, but I cannot but grieve not to have him by me for what time might have been granted him.”

          The green door of Bag End opened again, and Brendilac Brandybuck, accompanied by Narcissa Boffin, came out and down the steps to the lane.  Gandalf watched in silence as the two joined those already about him.  “You are truly leaving Middle Earth?” Narcissa asked once they were close enough for her to speak in a low voice and be heard.

          “Yes, child, I go as I must.”

          “And you can’t stay for--for----”

          “No, lady, I may not.  This time it is for another to offer Light upon the way.”

          Sam felt a thrill of hope, and he looked up keenly into Gandalf’s eyes.  “Then someone else....”

          “If all goes well from here, he will have the guidance he needs, although it appears all has not gone particularly well to this time.”

          “And there’s nothing we can do for him to help him stay?” Pippin asked.

          “Do you wish to see him totally bedridden, Peregrin Took, having to struggle just to breathe at the end?”

          Pippin, his face pale even in the dim light, shook his head.  Suddenly he held out his arms, and Gandalf sank to one knee to embrace him, then held out his other arm to embrace all three.  “I will not say, do not weep,” he whispered to them, “for not all tears are an evil.  But stay by him and let him comfort you as he can, and do not fear to let him go when the time comes, as come it must.”  He kissed each head gently, then at last rose, looking at Brendi and Narcissa where they stood together, holding on to one another in their mutual grief.  He smiled at them.  “And a special joy he intends for the two of you, if you will recognize it and rejoice to accept it when it becomes evident.”  His smile grew brighter as he leaned down to set a hand on the shoulder of each.  “Ah, our Iorhael was well named.  And he has loved so many worthy, bright and shining ones.  Know peace, children.”

          The other current residents and guests of Bag End had come out to the pavement outside the door.  Gandalf looked up at them as Shadowfax walked up the lane to him.  The three Travelers stepped back to allow horse and rider room, and Gandalf held out his staff for Pippin to hold one last time as he gave a twisting leap to mount the great silver steed.  Once astride, the Hobbit held up the rod for the Wizard to take.  Staff in hand, Gandalf looked once more on those Hobbits about him, those who stood above before the door of Bag End, and those who now came out along the Row to see the sight of the one Big Folk none had reason to fear, in awe to see the changes in one they’d thought they’d known as well as a body could know such a vagabond.

          “Hobbits,” Gandalf said with wonder, “must be among the most dear of all the Creator’s children.  I’ve followed your history for so long, and yet you’ve always managed to relieve me and astound me and give me reason to know joy and delight and respect for your companionship.”  He bowed his head in deepest respect to all, then spoke a word and Shadowfax turned toward the bridge north toward the Road.  “Rejoice, all you who are Hobbits of the Shire!” he called as the great steed gathered speed and began his run to catch up with those others who also headed for the Grey Havens.

******* 

          On the fourth of October the Bolger coach came up the lane to Bag End, stopping before the steps up to the gate and the round green door.  Fredegar Bolger opened the door and pushed out the folding steps, then emerged, turning back to assist his sister out after him.  Budgie Smallfoot, his friend and personal healer, called from the box, “I’ll take this on into Bywater to the Green Dragon and see the ponies stabled, and we’ll be back as soon as we can.”  His wife Viola handed out the three cases and the hamper to the two departing passengers, and once Freddy had refolded the step and closed the door Budgie gave a chirrup as he slapped the reins, and the ponies started down toward the sharp curve halfway down to the Row and the other turning onto the way toward Bywater.

          Sam came out, followed by Frodo, who was neatly dressed save for the oversized grey shawl he wore wrapped about his shoulders.

          “There are some--changes to the plan,” Frodo commented once the greetings were given.  “It appears--I’m not to be granted the privacy I’d counted on, although it no longer disturbs me as it did.  But I’m glad you’ve come at last.  I fear you each will have to sleep in an inner bedroom, and I hope, Estella, you won’t mind sharing a room with my cousin Narcissa.  Ivy left a few days ago to return to Overhill, for she feels she’s done all she can and is at peace with what will come.  But the entire family is gathering about me.  You’ll have to share with Folco, Freddy.  He arrived yesterday, you see.  I hope there will be room at the Dragon for the coach and ponies, for I fear the Ivy Bush is out of stable room.  Most have been considerate and have agreed to stay at one of the inns, although I do believe the Whitfoots intend to stay with Griffo and Daisy, although I’m not certain if they’ve informed them as yet.  But I fear Angelica and Rico plan to impose on Ponto and Iris.  I hope it is not all too stressful on her parents.”

          Frodo appeared to be well enough, but up close his color was particularly pale at the moment.  “What in Middle Earth?” Freddy began.

          “It’s too long a story, cousin,” Frodo told him.  “However, it appears I’ve not managed to be anywhere as--as secret about it all as I’d intended.  Let’s go inside.”

          As he led the way into the parlor Frodo sighed.  “It’s a relief that most are gone at the moment.  The Tooks and Brandybucks went to the Great Smial three days ago, although they intend to return tonight, I think--tonight or tomorrow morning.  At the moment it’s Brendi, Folco, Narcissa, Merry and Pippin, and the four of us, and now you.  I’m so glad you did come, Estella, although I wasn’t certain you would.”

          “I’d heard from Melilot that Freddy was coming here and that the Master and Mistress had come here with the Thain and Aunt Eglantine, and I felt I ought to come, also.  What is it, Frodo?  My brother was most unhappy I insisted on coming, and won’t tell me what the to-do is all about.”

          “Well, he’s not known all of it, for I’ve been far too--distracted--to let anyone know.  You were all to receive letters today to advise you to come for the eighth, but I must assume you left before the Quick Post messengers reached Budge Hall.”

          “The eighth?  What’s important about the eighth?” she asked.

          He gave her a tired smile as he sank into his chair.  “I suspect on that day you would need to be here for my funeral and the reading of my will.”  He reached up to rub at his left shoulder, and his eyes closed.  “I’m more tired today, for some reason, even with the draught,” he said.

          It was obvious Estella had thought he was joking until she saw the unfeigned pain in his eyes.  “But--Frodo!” she dropped the hamper and case she’d carried, and leaned forward to take his left hand in hers.  Feeling the cold in it, she looked down at it in dismay.  “What is it, Frodo?” she demanded.  “You mean...?”

          “Yes, I mean that.  I’m growing very weary, I find, and I think it will be well to rest.  Don’t be upset, please, Estella.  Please.  I’ve had a far easier time of it for the last several days than I’d looked to know.  But the journey I made was too much for this body of mine, and has taken its toll of it.  I’d wanted to go quietly and without fanfare, but that, apparently, is not to be.  However, the moment isn’t yet.”  He gave a small smile.

          “Rosie’ll have a meal on shortly, soon as Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin come back,” Sam said quietly as he took up the rug folded on the top of the chest by Frodo’s chair and draped it over his Master’s knees.  “Miss Narcissa and Mr. Folco’ve said as they’ll eat while they’re out, as both have business to attend to.  You feel like eatin’ with us, Mr. Frodo?” he asked.

          “I’ll try, Sam, although I don’t feel like having very much.”

          “We’ve a mushroom soup, or a broth.”

          Frodo’s smile was still delightful.  “I’ll try the soup, Sam.”

          “Good enough, then.”

          Yet, after that, talk turned to other things, and Estella found herself answering questions about her parents’ health and the doings in Budge Hall and Budgeford.  Pippin, Merry, and Brendi, followed closely by Budgie, Viola, and their infant son, came in from the market carrying supplies, and with them came Pando Proudfoot and his little cousin Cyclamen carrying two pies, one brambleberry and one apple.  Frodo brightened to see them, and as Pando carried the pies to the kitchen and Budgie and Viola were shown to their room so that Viola could nurse and change little Drogo, he drew the lass onto his lap.  “What story did you think of to tell me today, Cyclamen?” he asked. 

          Quickly the child began telling of herself and her brother going to fight a great dragon that had carried Frodo off to its lair to keep with its great pile of gold and jewels.

          He laughed.  “How is it I was carried off instead of ending up getting eaten?”

          “You were wearing your silver shirt you wore when you came back from the King’s city,” she said, “and the Elf sword your uncle gave you, and you were all shining and bright like the stars, and so he decided it would be more wonderful to take you and guard you with his jewels than to eat you.  Anyway, with your shirt on you’d be to hard for him to eat.  But it’s no fun just sitting in a dark cave with only a dragon, so you didn’t want to stay, and you were glad when we came to rescue you.”

          At that moment Rosie came out to announce the meal was ready.  “I’ll come back tomorrow if I can and tell you the rest,” she promised.  “Mummy’ll have our nuncheon on the table, too.  If not tomorrow, the day after.”

          “We’ll see,” he said.  “I hope you can do it tomorrow, though.”

          “You be busy the day after?” she asked.

          His face was more solemn, but still smiling softly as he said, “I’m afraid I might.  But we’ll see.”  He kissed her hair, and let her go, and watched as she followed her foster brother out the door.  “Take care of her for me, please, Pando,” he asked.

          The lad nodded, his face sad and slightly troubled.  He was older and more experienced than Cyclamen, and understood that the concern here was that there might not be enough tomorrows for their older cousin to do all he’d like to do.  Having lost his birth parents when he was not much older than his foster sister, he already had faced loss through death, and wasn’t certain he wanted to endure it again.

          Once the door closed behind them, Frodo closed his eyes and leaned his head back, and slipped into a gentle doze.  Sam recognized it, for he’d seen it often enough in the past few weeks.  “He’ll not be comin’ to the table after all,” he advised Estella and Freddy quietly as Budgie returned from the bedrooms.

          The healer looked at the drowsing form seated in the chair, his brow furrowed.  “He’s even thinner.”  He looked down at the ankles that showed beyond the lower edge of the rug.  “Those aren’t as badly swollen as I’d looked to see,” he commented.

          “The herbs as Lord Elrond give me for him do seem to work well,” Sam admitted.  “But although he’s more alert with this mixture than the last one as was sent, he’s not as well as he ought to be--not by a long ways.  It’s probably as good most of those as of been here’s gone at the moment, for he presses hisself to stay awake when they’re here.”

          “Do you have a footstool we can put his feet up on?” Budgie asked. 

          A footstool was fetched from Frodo’s bedroom by Pippin along with a cushion, and Sam gently lifted Frodo’s feet to place them on the combination.  He made certain a mug of water was set on the chest at Frodo’s side, and led the way to the dining room.  “Too many to eat at the kitchen table right now,” he sighed.  “At least the weather’s remained clear for him.  Havin’ the sky clear seems to cheer him, especial at night.”

          The meal was simple, a thick mushroom soup and bread, with sliced cold meats and some fruit.  Sam produced small beer and cider for the company to drink, and after the Standing Silence they began to eat with no chatter.  At last Freddy asked, “What has happened to bring all of these here?”

          “Sam had best explain about the offer Frodo refused,” Merry suggested.

          As he talked, Sam watched the eyes of the new guests widen with surprise and dismay.  “They offered to allow him to go with them, and he refused?” Fredegar Bolger asked, totally at a loss to understand.

          Sam nodded.  “So home we come, to find as all was gatherin’ around.”

          “Gandalf had found us not far from the Sarn Ford and hustled us along,” explained Pippin, “and apparently our parents realized from what they saw of him at that dinner of his that he was--dying, and drove here together from Buckland.”

          Brendi sighed.  “I--I had to know, as did Ordo and Oridon as his bankers of discretion.  I finally screwed myself up and came.  Wrote to my other clients there was serious illness in the family, and I expected I’d be able to reschedule appointments after the tenth.  And apparently Narcissa Boffin saw him in Michel Delving--she’d gone to register Ivy’s new will and arrived as Frodo was leaving after registering his revised one, and he all but admitted he was fading.  She told her mother and Folco, and so she and Ivy arrived not long before Frodo and Sam returned.”

          “Letter I had this mornin’ from Mayor Whitfoot said as his wife and daughter’d seen Frodo after he left the Mayor’s office and realized just how ill he was, and then they got the letter last night--messenger come to the house with the letter from the deputy Mayor earlier than it said on the envelope, for he’d got word as his eldest in Tuckborough was finally ready to deliver, and he wanted to make certain as they got theirs aforehand to have to open today.  Will answered it right away, he did.  And Mr. Frodo got word from Missus Iris as Missus Angelica and her husband’s comin’ to stay with her and Mr. Ponto, for Missus Angelica’s always cared for her cousin, she has.”

          “But what’s he ill with?” asked Estella.

          “His heart is failing him,” Budgie said simply.  “He’s been able to hide a great deal of it, but as it’s become worse it’s getting harder and harder to continue to do so.  And the whole situation has been complicated by the effects of what happened to him, out there.  He says he was near to death several times, and the others say the same.  Between evil memories and an extraordinarily delicate stomach, he’s lost weight and can’t regain it properly.”

          “We’ve seen two bad attacks,” Freddy added, “and he’s not likely to survive another.”

          “Attacks of what?” she persisted.

          “Memories the likes of which you cannot imagine,” Pippin said.  “He has seen the heart of evil itself and managed to survive it.  But as weak as he is becoming, he’ll not be able to bear much more.” 

          Estella searched his eyes, and saw a pain that was beyond her ability to fully understand.  In looking at those of Merry she saw it reflected there, as was true of Sam.  “But----”

          “All of us fought that evil, Stel,” Merry said quietly.  “Even your brother felt the effects of the Black Riders, although I’m grateful he experienced nothing worse than a very mild case of the Black Breath at the time.  I had a far worse case, and it almost killed me.  Frodo survived far, far worse still, and fought it with every fiber of his being, and won through; but one cannot do such a thing without being profoundly changed.  Some of those who’ve fought what we did failed, and turned to join the very evil they had sought to face.  Others have been so emptied inside they can barely get on from day to day.  Frodo’s one of those.  But he’s still seeking the Light, and--and all too soon he’ll be joining it.  He went too far to find his reward here in Middle Earth.”

          Estella saw the agreement present in her brother’s eyes and those of Sam and Pippin, and the acceptance in those of Rosie, Budgie, Brendi, and Viola.

          Elanor put down the apple slice she’d been gumming.  “Fo,” she said, turning to look at the door to the passage outside the dining room.  Estella turned, but noted the doorway remained empty.

Comfort Approaches from the South

          A lone rider, mounted on one of the Mearas, approached the Gap of Rohan.  He’d seen three Ents as he passed the southern borders of Fangorn Forest and the wooded area that now surrounded Orthanc and its lake.  He was now traveling swiftly once more as he prepared to turn northward past the renewed garrison fortress that guarded the pass just south of Dunland.  After the frustration of having to lead Roheryn across much of Rohan on foot after the great stallion had pulled a muscle in his leg, to find himself able once more to travel at speed seemed a long-denied luxury.  The question, however, was whether or not he’d reach his destination in time.  He found himself doubting it, but pressed on anyway.

          “Estel, he has chosen at last,” Arwen had told him, her expression of great grief revealing that the offered gift had been declined.  “Go to him, beloved.  I fear he will need your Light to illuminate the Way.”

          And although he’d issued a temporary ban on Men entering the Shire, nevertheless he had sent one of the pages of the Citadel to the lower stables to have Roheryn made ready, and had sought out Faramir, leaving the rule of Gondor in the capable hands of his Queen and his Steward for such time as he must be gone.  He was grateful all was at peace and no enemy appeared willing--for the moment, at least--to threaten the borders of either Gondor or Arnor, and that none disturbed the tranquility of Rohan, either.  Had there not been the injury to Roheryn, he would have been far to the north by now.  But after several days of walking westward they’d been found by Éomer King and this one, and the great silver-grey horse had indicated he would accept Aragorn.

          He’d called the great horse Olórin, and now he reveled in the smooth, steady gait.  Perhaps there was a chance....

          They stopped but a short time to rest and eat, and Olórin appeared to enjoy the quick grooming done with a twist of dried grasses.  The Ranger snatched some sleep, but was awakened by the horse mouthing at him and snorting in his face.  “Sa, brother,” Aragorn told him in Rohirric, rubbing at his eyes, “I am awake.  You are so eager to be on your way, are you?”

          His answer was another snort.  He laughed as he rose, relieved himself and splashed his face with water from the small stream by which they’d rested; and having refilled his water bottle he remounted the horse, who immediately approached the tree where Aragorn had hung his goods before he rested.  Once all was again hung about the Man’s person, Olórin left the protected glade where they’d taken their ease, and soon was striding northward again--an easy canter for this one, the Dúnedan realized.

          Several days they rode like this.  They’d passed Tharbad a day past when he saw another horseman far ahead, also heading north.  The pace of the steed was familiar, and the shape it bore remarkably bulky and also familiar.  For a moment at the sight Olórin had slowed, but at the glad cry of his rider the stallion quickened his pace, breaking into a gallop as smooth as his canter.

          Indeed, there were two riding together on the white horse they were overtaking, and the russet-haired passenger who rode behind was twisted to watch their approach.  Arod slowed as the grey came nearer, then stopped, looking behind him with an eagerness to his stance, recognition given for the horse who approached.

          Only as they came even with Elf and Dwarf did Olórin slow, then stop.  Legolas looked up at the Dúnedan riding Elf-fashion as was he and laughed at the wonder of it.  “A second of the Mearas have the Rohirrim let leave their keeping?” he asked.

          “So it has proven,” the King answered him.  “At least this one came to me with their lord King’s blessing.  What do you on this road?  I thought you went north along the eastern bank of the Anduin.”

          “Haldir of Lorien met us near the crossings of Cair Andros where we’d looked to ford the river, and told us the Lady had abandoned her land and was intent on passing West, and that she and her lord had gone north first to Imladris.  He told us also that the wind had brought sad news--that the Ring-bearer had chosen to remain in his own land, and that already death stalks him.  This is true, Aragorn Elessar?  Is Frodo indeed fading so soon?”

          Aragorn nodded solemnly.  “Yes, or so the word came to us as well.”

          A movement from the Elf, and Arod reluctantly resumed his progress northward, Olórin immediately doing likewise, limiting his pace to keep back with the smaller horse for the moment.  Gimli’s brow was furrowed.  “Can you do nothing for him, Aragorn?”

          The Man shook his head.  “The scars were far too deep for me to do much more than ease the pain for him before and allow temporary respite from the weakening--now they are worse.  Only the aid of the Valar could properly heal him, but they are bound from aiding too strongly those who reside within the Mortal lands.  However, what would serve to his best advantage there is the distance from the distress with which he has been surrounded since the Ring first awoke and began seeking to overpower him.  Before that time he knew mostly peace and balance, making it easier to deal with what pressure the Ring exerted on him.”

          “But the Ring is gone now,” Gimli objected.

          “And look at what he’s dealt with since he returned to his land--the home of his heart all but destroyed, the cousin he’d hoped to reprove and bring back to sensibility murdered, the malice of Saruman loosed on the land he loved, the beauty of the Shire trodden upon and defaced, the laws of the land debased and twisted, its people confused and rising toward resentment and vengeance.  For one who’d expected to return to peace and contentment and oneness with the rhythms of the seasons and the bounty of the land he loved it was almost more than he could bear.”

          “If Saruman were still alive,” the Dwarf muttered, “I’d tear out his beard hair by hair, then set him to work scouring the roads of the Shire with only a trowel and a small brush to work with.”

          Aragorn laughed.  “That last would be a fitting punishment, I think.”

          “It would give him time to contemplate his misdeeds, but at the same time would require sufficient attention to detail to keep him from plotting more mischief, I’d think,” Legolas noted.

          “Where are you headed now?” Gimli asked.

          “To the Havens--there may yet be time to bid the others goodbye.”

          Gimli gave his head a disbelieving shake. “You don’t go to the Shire?”

          “I’ve placed a temporary ban forbidding Men to enter the Shire while the land recovers from the ills wreaked upon it.  I would be an ill king to break the ban I’ve set.”

          Gimli’s response was loud and long.  Legolas looked over his shoulder at his companion and cautioned, “I agree with you, my friend; but he does speak rightly.”

          “Not if Frodo suffers for him not coming,” Gimli grumbled.  He muttered to himself in Khuzdul for a few minutes, and then went quiet briefly before asking, “When are they to sail--the Lady and Lord Elrond and all?”

          “I’m not certain.  I would expect they planned to meet Frodo on his and Bilbo’s birthday, September the twenty-second.  That’s four days past.”

          “They could already have reached the Havens of Mithlond if they rode swiftly,” Legolas said, his expression thoughtful.  “We are likely to miss them no matter what speed we take; but there’s no chance we’ll make it in a timely manner if we don’t go more quickly.”

          Gimli groaned.  “Then it’s to be the journey to the Pelargir all over again, I take it?”

          Legolas glanced over his shoulder.  “Do you wish me to leave you here and you can follow at your leisure?”

          “What?  And miss the chance to see either Lady Galadriel or Frodo?  Go on--I’ll manage, you know.”

          Legolas laughed, and looked to Aragorn.  “Shall we ride then, mellon nín?”

          Aragorn nodded.  “We ride then, gentlemen.”  And with a word to Olórin he led the way, Arod changing to a gallop in his effort to keep pace with the great silver horse.

 *******

          Four days later they met with three Dúnedain Rangers heading south toward Gondor, and Aragorn accepted the letters they carried.  They were letters of farewell from Elrond, who had fostered him in Imladris after the death of his father, from the Lady Galadriel, from Gandalf, and two from Frodo Baggins.

          The first letter from Frodo avoided all mention of his personal condition, speaking of the continuing investigation of how Lotho Sackville-Baggins had managed to gain such control of the Shire, the delight he, Rosie, and Sam took in little Elanor’s rapid growth and development, and the beauty of the gardens of Bag End.  The second letter tore at Aragorn’s heart, for in it the Hobbit admitted he knew his heart was failing, that he expected not to survive the next bout of the memories, and that he wished for Sam to be protected from seeing him die, for he believed that he would do so while caught in the midst of reliving the horrors of three years past.

          The King found himself crushing the second letter in his hand in his own anguish.  “Oh, Frodo, my own beloved small brother of the heart,” he groaned.  “How I wish I could properly relieve you!”

          “Will you go onward, Lord Cousin?” asked Berevrion, who headed the small mission being sent south by Halladan, Aragorn’s Steward here in Arnor.

          “I will.  Although I have bound myself from entering the Shire, there is yet the chance I might still bid farewell to those who are sailing to Tol Eressëa,” Aragorn said.  “And I may be able to intercept my brothers and send them with Legolas and Gimli here to Frodo’s comfort.

          “And you, Berevrion--since we have met on the road, will you return to Annúminas and your duties here in Arnor?”

          “No, for Halladan had other matters he wished for me to discuss with you and those who form your Council there in Minas Tirith.”

          Aragorn indicated his understanding.  “Go on, then, and I, at least, will follow as I can.  I suspect that when I return it will be in company with Elladan and Elrohir, for they will most likely desire the comfort of their sister at this time, much as she will appreciate their presence for the same purpose.”

          “We will go, then,” Berevrion told him, “and make ready for your return.  And I rejoice you have these by you for company and additional guard as you travel.”

          Legolas gave a gracious bow of acknowledgment.  “We, too, know pain at the thought of our beloved friend being so close to death, and are glad we have been able to accompany Elessar on at least part of this journey.”

          In moments the party from the north set off once more on their journey southward, while Aragorn, followed still by Elf and Dwarf together on Arod resumed the ride north, walking sedately for a time while the Man described the contents of the letters he’d received to the others.

          “I don’t like this tale of memories haunting him, Aragorn,” Gimli grunted.

          “Is this common amongst mortals?” Legolas asked.

          “I’ve seen it from time to time among Men, particularly in those who have lived protected and peaceful lives before they were faced with the horrors of war or other disasters beyond their imaginings and experience.  And how many Elves have you known, Legolas, who were not the same after their first experience with assaults by the Enemy; and how many of those have you seen fade?”

          The Elf thought for some time before admitting, “Not many, but any is too many, I think.”

          “I agree,” Aragorn sighed.

          They rode on at a fairly steady canter, and at last stopped to camp for the night when Gimli pointed out if they didn’t do so soon he was likely to pitch from Arod’s back and break his neck upon impact with the ground.  As Gimli saw a fire lit and Aragorn prepared a hasty meal, Legolas smoothed Frodo’s last letter and read it aloud by what light was admitted by the fleeting clouds overhead.  When done, he looked at his friend among Men.   “He wishes to see you at least once more before he goes, mellon nín,” he said, quietly.  “Cannot you break your own ban for his sake, Aragorn?”

          “How can I hold others to such a ban if I break it myself, Legolas?”  There was anguish in the voice of the King, and both Elf and Dwarf could see it reflected also in the restless way he sat on the edge of the camp, smoking steadily on his pipe, his eyes stirring ever north and westward toward the Shire.

          It rained in the region where they rode for the next two days, finally clearing only as they arrived in those lands within two days’ ride of Bree.  A half-day’s journey from the Sarn Ford they saw two more riders, definitely Elven warriors, and both Legolas and Gimli noted the relief in their companion’s eyes as he recognized the sons of Elrond approaching. 

          “Estel!” one called out once they were close enough to speak comfortably.  “So, Adar was correct, and you did come north after all!  It was his hope you would reach the Ring-bearer before the end and grant him the comfort of your presence before he must accept the Gift.”

          “But Elladan, as a Man I may not enter the Shire, by the strength of my own temporary edict,” Aragorn answered him.

          The other gave a deep sigh, examining the face of the King.  “I told you we would know difficulties getting him come to the side of Frodo Baggins,” Elrohir said.

          “I am certain I could not say which is the more stubborn,” agreed his brother.  Both brothers examined the face of their mortal kinsman.  At last Elladan continued, “You are the King indeed, are you not, and have inherited all the duties of those of your forebears back to the days of our adar’s brother, Elros Tar-Minyatur himself?”

          “Yes,” answered Aragorn, not certain where this line of reasoning would lead.

          “What has ever been the duty of the King toward the Valar and the Creator?”

          “It is the King’s duty to stand before the Valar and the Creator for his people, and to stand before his people to represent the will and desires of the Valar and the Creator,” Aragorn answered automatically. 

          “And who was the one individual allowed to speak in the great Hallows upon the height of the Mountain at the heart of Atalantë?”

          “The King himself, when he offered up the first fruits of the harvest, and when he uttered the thanksgiving of his people, and when he presented their petitions to the Valar in the days of greatest trial and tribulation.”

          “To whom did the great Eagles speak when they bore word from the Valar?”

          “To the King, and it was the King who was expected to answer them,” Aragorn added, anticipating the next logical question in the chain.

          “And when one of his people of highest esteem in the eyes of all the peoples of the lands as well as the eyes of the Valar and Iluvatar Himself has given utterance to the desire to have the representative of the Valar and the Creator come to him as he faces his final moments in Middle Earth?” prompted Elrohir, breaking into the catechism.

          Aragorn paused, looking from the eyes of the one Peredhel to those of the other then back again, and finally turning toward his companions.  Gimli’s face was both appreciative and respectful as he looked at the twin sons of Elrond Eärendilion, and became satisfied as he turned his attention on his friend among Men.  “I do think,” the Dwarf said slowly, “that they’ve stated the matter well.”

          Legolas gave a single nod of agreement.  “If the Valar and Eru Himself honor Frodo as they have, who is the King to do less?”

          A great cry could be heard from overhead, and they saw approaching them from the West one of the Great Eagles.  The huge bird did not light near them, but circled overhead three times, then flew northwest, toward the heart of the Shire.  His face pale and with acceptance and humility to be seen there, Aragorn at last spoke, his voice thick with emotion, “It appears that the King himself is summoned to the Hill at the heart of the Shire.”

          Watching after the Eagle, Elladan and Elrohir were giving identical nods to their own heads.  “Yes,” Elladan said softly and with reverence.  “So it appears.”  Once the Eagle could no longer be seen he said, “If you had hoped to bid farewell to our Adar and daernaneth and Gandalf I fear you are already too late, for their ship sailed from the quays of Mithlond an hour before sunset on the twenty-ninth, or so we were told by those who accompanied Gildor Inglorion there but no further as of this time.”

          Aragorn gave another nod, then looked down at himself, clad in the green riding leathers he’d worn throughout most of the Quest as he traveled by Frodo’s side, and the cloak from Lothlorien.  “Yet, if we are met by Shiriffs or Bounders as we enter and travel through the Shire, how are we to convince them I am the King and thus have authority to overturn my own ban?  I look the veriest vagabond at this point.”

          Elrohir laughed.  “Merely pull the cloak our daernaneth gave you about you and cover your head with the hood as we approach the borders of the Shire, and none will question further.”

          “We will have to ride sedately once we enter the Shire,” Elladan noted, “for the roads in the region are narrow for the purposes of horsemen, and wind between their villages and about the borders of their fields.  No welcome will we find if we offer any damage to the last of their crops or their fields, or if we frighten any of their folk.”

          Aragorn nodded thoughtfully.  “Indeed.  I remember being reproved for reckless riding once, many years past, by a young Hobbit there near the market at the Brandywine Bridge....”  He stopped, his face going still with memory, then gave a bark of a laugh.  “I wonder....  It would suit the humor of the Creator if it were true.”

          “If what were true?” asked Gimli.

          “Who is it we know that has ties to both Buckland and the center of the Shire itself?” the Man asked.

          “Frodo?  You think it might have been Frodo then?”

          “He would have been nearing adulthood in the eyes of the people of the Shire, and all tell us that in those years he and Bilbo traveled regularly between Hobbiton and Buckland.”

          “Well, if we are to reach Hobbiton before the sixth, we’d best ride.  It is at least three and a half days’ journey if we must go slowly once we pass their borders,” Elladan pointed out.

          All agreed and turned their way toward the Sarn Ford, making the most of this last time when they might ride at speed.

 *******

          The Bounder at the Ford looked at this strange riding with a good deal of awe.  He knew Dwarves when he saw them, of course; and recognized that the three whose faces he saw clearly were indeed Elves, though he’d seen none of their people before.  Also he recognized the cloaks worn by the Dwarf and the Elf he rode behind, as well as wrapped about the one astride the great silver horse in the midst of the company, for all had seen such cloaks worn by the Travelers since their return from foreign parts.  The one who rode with the hood obscuring his face must be a great one amongst the Elves, he thought.

          “And where is it you ride?” asked Beligard Took.

          “We bear messages from Minas Tirith to Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee of Bag End in Hobbiton,” the golden haired Elf told him.  “The King desires comfort to be brought to them at this time.”

          “Somethin’ ill happening as might disturb them?” the Hobbit asked.

          “We understand Frodo himself is ill,” was the reply.

          “What?  Cousin Frodo ill?  How do you know that?”

          “He’s sent letters southward.  He’s done his best to hide his illness from those here, but has been more frank with the folk of Rivendell and with the King.”

          “And who are you, to be sent so?”

          “Gimli and I accompanied Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin southward, as did our companion there; and these three are the sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

          That name earned them all a good deal of respect.  “Then, as you’re Elves and a Dwarf and represent the King and Lord Elrond, go on with you, then.  But remember to ride with care.  Our folk have little enough experience with horsemen, and our children may be careless upon the roads and lanes.”

          He heard laughs from Dwarf and the tall one who rode the great silver, and saw smiles on the faces of the others.  “We will indeed ride with care,” the golden-haired Elf assured him.

          It was only after the odd party passed out of sight heading north that the Bounder remembered that it had always been said Elrond had but two sons--twins, if he remembered.  Well, two of those who’d just entered the Shire were indeed so alike they must be twins; but who was the third?  Concerned, he looked after them, then with a swift decision he went back to the small hole dug for the comfort of those Bounders who watched this entrance to the Shire and spoke to his fellow who was cooking their evening meal there.  “I’d just passed a party of Elves and a Dwarf into the Shire,” he told the other Hobbit, “and I think as I’d best follow after them and perhaps get ahead of them to speak to the Thain.”

          “He was in Buckland last as I heard tell of him and Mistress Eglantine,” the other Hobbit noted.

          “No, all of them went on to Bag End about a week back, just afore I come this way,” Beli told him.  “Seems as Frodo threw his birthday party late or somethin’ like.”

          “And they’re still there, you think?”

          “Well, if they aren’t, I’ll find out best wheres they’ve gone if I ask at Bag End, most like.”

          “All right--I’ll hold the Fords alone.  It’s few enough as come this road, after all.”

          Reassured, Beligard Took went out to fetch his pony out of the lean-to that served as a stable, and saw it saddled.

Heart Breaking

          When those in Bag End rose from their luncheon, they found Frodo had left the parlor.  A cool draft led them to the discovery the door was slightly ajar, and a harsh, persistent coughing indicated Frodo was now outside.

          “Has he caught a cold?” asked Estella, concerned.

          Budgie Smallfoot’s face was set as he explained quietly, “No--that’s a part of the failing of his heart.”

          “It comes and goes, usually worst when he wakes up or has been exertin’ hisself,” Sam commented, “although it happens more often now, it seems.”

          Budgie nodded.  “It’s a sign things are getting worse.”  Grief and a sense of inevitability could be seen in his expression.

          “Why is he so certain,” Estella asked in a near-whisper, “he’ll be dead by the eighth?”

          Sam’s throat was tight as he answered, “It was three years ago as he was stabbed by the Lord of the Black Riders.  First year we was comin’ home when the memories hit him, and he went white but kept on anyways.  Second year--last year, he was hurtin’ some that mornin, but went on to Budgeford to the birthday party for your brother and Mr. Budgie here, and it was worse that evenin’, I understand.  Has been ill in the springs on the anniversaries of when the spider poisoned him as we entered Mordor, too.  He’s weak enough now, and what with his heart givin’ out, he don’t think as he’ll make it through this bout comin’, and Lord Elrond and Gandalf agree.”

          “As do I,” Budgie added, his own voice tight.

          “But how does this memory thing figure in?  How can someone become ill on an anniversary of when he was hurt?”

          Merry gave a deep sigh, and glanced around the room.  When he spoke, it was obvious he felt uncomfortable discussing the topic.  “For him there are several things that can trigger the memories and all.  Rainstorms seem to affect all of us, especially if there’s lightning and thunder--we’ll all have nightmares, and feel very uncomfortable even when we’re awake.  If the wind blows a cloud just so between the Sun and me I’ll tense up and expect to see the--Nazgul approaching on that winged thing he rode.  If someone mentions Nazgul or--or Black Riders my right hand goes cold, and if I’m already upset it will ache. 

          “Frodo doesn’t like to talk about what he feels or his nightmares, but I know it’s worse than what Pippin and I know, which can be bad enough.  He was warned that the wound to his shoulder won’t ever heal, and it often aches.  I know red lights bother him--he’ll cringe if he sees one.  He won’t agree to wear a ring, and can barely bring himself to touch one, even; and at the sound of a cringing voice he’ll tighten up.  But for him, apparently on the anniversaries of----”

          “On the anniversaries of the worst woundings I relive the whole thing,” Frodo said from just inside the door as he pushed it shut behind him.  “It is very confusing, for the memories overlap.”  He came in further and sat in his chair.  He wore his Elven cloak, and was holding onto the pendant jewel, Sam noted.

          “That first time--we were crossing the Bruinen at the fords, and I found myself reluctant to encourage Strider into the water.  Suddenly----”  He stopped, his chin raised and his expression became distant.  He swallowed.  “I could see them, all nine of them, and the pale King riding forward before the others, raising his sword.  But I was also in the dale there below Amon Sul, slashing at him and catching his black cloak, then he was advancing on me--and--and stabbing my shoulder.” 

          His lips were going almost blue, and Sam worried for him.  “That ought to be enough for her to begin to understand, Mr. Frodo, sir,” he said.  “Don’t worry about tellin’ more, not now.  No need to relive it afore it comes.  She was only wonderin’ why it is as you have the memories hit on the anniversaries in especial.”  He turned to Estella.  “For the longest time Mr. Frodo’s memories of what happened there after the Emyn Muil was almost lost to him, and our Lord Strider told me as it happens that way, sometimes.  Says often the worst is hidden away for a time, only it can come back on one, and nobody can say for certain as what’ll spark the memories.  Just talkin’ about what happened can put me back there in that brown dark time, and I almost taste the dead ash in my mouth, I do, or hear the orcs screamin’ at us.  A sound, a flash o’ light, a movement...you never know as what’ll spark it.”

          Viola turned curiously toward Pippin.  “Are there things that bother you, too, Mr. Peregrin?”

          The younger Hobbit looked about, then shrugged.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “The weather.  Since I got back I can’t go near the flames of a bonfire, and when someone burns a roast it can make me feel physically ill.  A large bird flies overhead and I start wanting to duck down, as if I were a rabbit hiding from a hawk.  And certain movements by others....”  He looked questioningly at Merry, who nodded.

          “Yes, I know.  Anything that moves like an orc.”  Both shuddered.

          “We didn’t know,” Estella said softly, her eyes meeting those of Merry.  “There was no way we could know.”

 *******

          Viola fetched a mug of the soup and a half a roll liberally spread with butter for Frodo, and set herself to watch him eat what he could take, and Brendi saw to it he had a mug of Sam’s tea by him.  The lawyer then set himself to describing his recent journey to Hardbottle to the company, who all laughed at the descriptions given of Bartolo Bracegirdle’s obvious rage at having been supplanted by Brendi as personal lawyer to the Bracegirdle family head.

          Frodo drank most of what had been brought to him and ate the roll, his expression thoughtful.  “I hate to see Benlo treat Bartolo that way,” he said.  “Bartolo’s extraordinarily honest and painstaking, and in spite of his tendency to speak out precisely what’s on his mind, he’s actually a very good Hobbit and a wonderful father and husband.  Delphie and their children plainly adore him.”

          “It’s mostly due to the way he’s spoken out about you, Frodo,” Freddy pointed out.  “I don’t know that Bartolo Bracegirdle has had a decent thing to say about you in his lifetime.”

          “Perhaps before you were born he might have,” Merry joked.

          Frodo shrugged.

          “We were a bit surprised to see you gone from the parlor when we came back in,” Merry told him.  “You looked to be dozing fairly peacefully.”

          “I appear to have slipped sideways, and was quite uncomfortable when I woke up.  I was having trouble breathing.  I thought perhaps the air outside might be easier to breathe.”  He rubbed at his eyes.  “Perhaps I’d feel more rested if I just went properly to bed,” he said.  “If you’ll excuse me....”  He rose and carefully removed his cloak, surrendering it to Rosie before heading off down the passage toward his room.

          “Rosie my love,” Sam said quietly, “you’ve not been out in days.  Why don’t you and the other lasses go off and spend the afternoon elsewhere--give yourselves a time away.  He’ll be all right for now.”

          “Merry and I will do the dishes for you,” Pippin offered.

          “And Sam and I are perfectly capable of preparing tea,” Freddy added.

          “And we’ll all see to Elanor,” Brendi promised. 

          With further coaxing from Viola and Estella, Rosie at last agreed.  Once Elanor was installed on a blanket on the floor with some of her favorite toys, Rosie and the other ladies gathered their own cloaks and went out.

          Soon after, the doorbell rang, and Begonia Rumble stood at the door with a large pot of chicken stew.  “I’ve just seen young Pando, and he’s most upset,” she said quietly, “although he’s controlling himself well enough.  He says as Mr. Frodo’s not well at all.  Is it true?”

          Sam took a shuddering breath.  He knew Frodo didn’t wish for the entire region to know, but what was he to do?  Pando Proudfoot had eyes to see, after all.  “No, Missus Rumble, I’m sorry to say as he’s not doin’ well at the moment.  However, he don’t want it noised all about Hobbiton and Bywater.”

          “I understand.  But the family’s gathering, like?”

          Another one with eyes to see and a heart to understand, Sam noted.  “Yes’m, they are.”

          She sighed, her eyes infinitely sad.  “I see,” she said.  “I’ve some calves foot jelly put by--I’ll send it up, too.  He may find he can stomach it better’n other things.”

          “Thankee so much for your thoughtfulness, Missus Rumble, mum.”

          “And I’ll be certain to keep an eye on your dad for you, Master Samwise.”

          Sam flushed brightly.  Widow Rumble had known him all his life.  “I thankee, Missus Begonia, mum,” he said.  “It has been a bit hard to get away these past few weeks.  Glad as Daisy and Moro is keepin’ by him, and May and all.”

          She took her leave.  But an hour later Daddy Twofoot’s daughter-in-law was up with several loaves of fresh bread and three pots of assorted jams; then one of the Chubbs lads with the promised calves foot jelly and a number of fresh-caught trout from the Water, followed by a Boffin from the village with a pot of beef broth.

          Elanor had played for quite some time and had giggled as she was passed from hand to hand, bounced on knees and thrown into the air.  Finally, sleepy and needing changing, she was returned to her father, who gave Pippin a suspicious glance while the Took returned his most endearing and innocent smile.  Once the child was cleaned and changed, Sam slipped into Frodo’s room, and laid his daughter by his Master.  Frodo roused a bit with a questioning expression, blinking and giving a cough, then smiling as he realized Elanor was at his side.  He drew her closer, his expression gentle as he murmured in soft Sindarin to her, and she rolled against him and, with one fist to her mouth, she fell asleep.  Frodo’s eyes closed, and with his other hand gently holding the Queen’s jewel, he dozed again.

 *******

          Rosie sat by him when Frodo woke again.  He blinked to clear his eyes, coughed a bit, and pushed himself up higher against the cushions, noting that Elanor was still asleep.  “Hello, Rosie.”

          “Hullo, Master Frodo.  Brought your tea for you, I did.  Feel up to drinkin’ it?”

          He nodded.  She leaned over him and helped him sit up, waited until the coughing was over, then finally held the mug for him while he drank.  “Thank you,” he said as he leaned back against the pillows again.

          “Looked as if you was havin’ a nice dream,” she commented.

          “I think I was dreaming Bilbo’s rescue by the Eagles,” he said.  He listened.  “It’s very quiet throughout the hole.”

          “They sent us ladies off to get away some hours, and did well by the place while we was gone--I’ll give ’em that.  So now it’s their turn.  Takin’ a walk down along the Water.  We’ve some fresh fish if’n you’d like some.”

          Frodo was surprised to realize he was quite hungry.  “Yes, but I’ll come out for it.  I won’t be more of an invalid then I have to be.  Thank you so much.”

          He rose and redressed himself, ran a quick brush through his hair, and gave another cough that quite woke Elanor.  “Now,” he said, “so you’re awake also, are you?  Well, we’ll get you changed and take you to your mum.  I’ll bet, my Elanorellë, you also are quite hungry, for you’ve been asleep for quite a time yourself.”

          He carried her to the nursery and quickly had her cleaned up and changed, then walked to the kitchen with her.  Rosie was sitting in her rocking chair with her own mug of tea to hand while Estella and Narcissa saw to the tea dishes and Viola saw to peeling potatoes for supper.  He looked at the unfamiliar pots and bowls set on the kitchen dresser and on the work table and stopped.  He looked at Rosie, dismayed.  “They found out?  How?”

          “No one in the village knows the extent of it, Master Frodo,” she explained as she rose to take Elanor from him, “but it ’pears as some has figgered it out, sir.  You have this many come, and some go and then come back again, and it’s hard not to realize as some’un’s failin’.”

          Frodo sat down in his chair at the head of the table.  Narcissa caught up the plate Rosie had prepared and set it before him and fetched him some cider.  The fish was excellent and obviously quite fresh; the vegetables good, the mushroom sauce wonderful.  He ate more than he’d been able to take in for a time, and sat back, sighing.  “It’s hard to realize they care,” he said quietly.  Rosie was seated again in her chair, a light blanket offering some privacy as Elanor nursed.

          “Of course they care,” Narcissa said, turning from the shelf where she was putting plates away.  “Really, Frodo Baggins--even if few in Hobbiton or Bywater have a great deal to do with you socially, they still care about one of their own.  And who is it who usually sends food to anyone who’s reported the least bit under the weather almost before the other folk on the street know he’s ill if not you?”

          Frodo shrugged.  He drank his cider thoughtfully, looking up as Pippin swept into the kitchen with Rosie’s cat on his shoulder.  “Found this one down on the Row, Rosie, stalking a bird.  Now--what shall we do with--” he checked, “--her?”

          “Nasturtium--what are we to do with you?” Rosie asked.  “Always after the birds, she is, although she’s not brought any home, at least.  Mice and rats and voles and all--yes; but not birds as yet.”

          “We’re going to have a last pipe before we come in and finish that game of draughts Merry and I started earlier.  Want to come out with us, Frodo?”

          Frodo smiled.  “Let me see this washed, and I’ll come after you,” he said. 

          He rose and took up plate and mug and started toward the sink, only to have Estella take them from him.  “The other lads did the dishes earlier,” she said.  “It’s our turn now.  You can help after supper if you like.”

          With all of them watching after him there was little he could do, so he nodded and went out, taking his cloak from the peg in the entranceway and donning it as he followed Pippin.

          Budgie eyed him as he came out.  “Sleep well, Frodo?” he asked as the Baggins sat down on the bench and accepted the cat from Pippin.

          “Yes, actually, and I appear to have eaten well, also--for me, at least.  And did you find anything wonderful down along the water?”

          “There was the largest stork I’ve ever seen,” Pippin said, “Standing in the water and catching fish as they swam around his leg.  It was quite fascinating, really.”

          There was a sudden sparkle of light in the garden as a number of butterflies, predominantly yellow and blue in color, suddenly swept past the last flowers to dance in the westering sunlight before the door of Bag End, some lighting on the last nasturtiums and Sam’s gold and silver dahlias, the rest fluttering close to Frodo as he sat on the bench. 

          Sam noted that Frodo’s fascination with the sight communicated itself to the cat, for Nasturtium was sitting quite still on Frodo’s lap, one leg raised, frozen as it had been when she started to lift it to lick her paw,  her attention also fixed on the sparkling curtain about them.

          Unconsciously Frodo lifted his right hand, and one particularly shining one came closer, finally lighting on his finger.  Frodo shone with delight and pleasure.  Sam glanced at the cat, afraid Nasturtium would strike at it and ruin the moment, but she didn’t, even when a second one landed on her raised paw, although her eyes were fixed on the butterfly to the exclusion of all else.  Several fluttered down to light in Frodo’s hair.

          “Merry,” breathed Pippin, “do you see?”

          “Yes,” Merry answered in a breathy whisper.  “Almost like a living circlet!”

          Frodo raised his eyes to meet Sam’s, and Sam thought of the times when he was but a little lad and Frodo nearly a Hobbit grown that he’d shone in just that way as he looked to share a moment of awe--when they’d watched a heron chick break out of its shell down by the Water, when they’d examined the shell-like constructions created by the water worms from the stream out of tiny beads and colored chips of stone, when they watched the surface of a pupa casing split open and a dragonfly emerge--youthful and full of delight at the beauty of life and the wonderful ways in which it was expressed.

          “He doesn’t even know they’re there about his head, does he?” murmured Freddy.

          “No, I don’t think he does.”

          “Shh!”

          “Neither does Sam realize he has them, too, I think,” Pippin added.

          Frodo didn’t seem to hear.  “Look Sam--here, hold out your hand....”

          And as Sam did so, the butterfly crawled from Frodo’s finger to Sam’s fingertips, and Frodo’s Light flared more in satisfaction at this blessing shared.

 *******

          “What do you mean you can stay only three days, Uncle Paladin?” Isumbard asked.

          “We have to go back, Bard.  There’s only time to see to whatever can be attended to quickly.  But we can’t stay away longer.”

          “But why come all this way from Buckland only to turn around and go----”

          “Not Buckland, Bard--Bag End.  We’ve been there since the twenty-fourth.”

          “But I thought Frodo wasn’t going to be home for his birthday and wouldn’t be throwing a party this time?”

          “He wasn’t and didn’t.  That’s not why we went there, for any party.  We’ll need a couple sides of beef sent there, and perhaps a half a hog and about ten plucked roasters.”

          “What?”

          “I want to be prepared for whoever might come.  We’ve lived too much off of Frodo’s bounty this last week.  Oh, and a half a hundredweight of potatoes--we’ve been eating what Sam and the Gaffer had on hand, but they’ll need something for the winter, Sam and Rosie and those on the Row.  And we’ll need to take Yellowskin with us.”

          “But why--?”  But the reason finally hit home.  Bard felt sick with a combination of grief, fear, and anger.  “Not Frodo?”

          Paladin Took hesitated briefly, then gave a nod.  “He’s finally coming to it, Bard.  Gandalf came to bid goodbye.”

          “When did he die?”

          “Not yet--he’s not died yet, but he’s very close now.  A matter of days, probably.”

          Bard sighed, straightened to his full height--until Pippin’s return from parts unknown he’d been the tallest Hobbit in the entirety of the Tooklands--and prepared to see to the Thain’s orders.  “May Pearl and the children and I return with you?”

          “You’ll have to stay at the Dragon, I fear.  Bag End is almost full now, and will be near the bursting point when we return.  Mac should arrive about the time we do, and Sara wants him there at hand when--when it comes.  I rode ahead--the carriage should be here shortly.”

          The word swept through the whole of the Great Smial in moments, or so it seemed.  By the time the Thain and his lady were ready to leave on the afternoon of the fourth there were several who were ready to go with them--Bard, Pearl; and their two children; Pimpernel and Ferdi and young Piper; Pervinca and her husband Maligar Bolger; old Bernigard and two of his pupils; Everard, Tolly, Hillie, and others who’d helped in the Mayor’s office during Frodo’s days as deputy Mayor.  The wagons of goods had been sent before them, along with a bullock and several chickens being sent to the best butcher in Hobbiton.

          As they reached the Road they were joined by a party from Michel Delving--the Mayor and his wife Mina and a few others.  They turned eastward toward the turn to Hobbiton....

 *******

          Oridon Goodbody and Gander Proudfoot didn’t turn from Emro Gravelly’s glare or Lilac’s shrill denial.  “I’m afraid as it’s not the sort o’ invitation as you can turn down for the twins,” Gander said, shaking his head.  “They’re needed, and on Baggins business.”

          “But they’re not Bagginses!” Lilac cried.

          Oridon sighed.  “Their dad was, and that makes them Bagginses.  You were allowed to foster them, not adopt them, you know.  Fosco will be family head for the Bagginses soon enough, you see....”

          “I ain’t leavin’ my farm,” interrupted Emro.

          “You’re not expected to, and the children won’t be leaving either,” Oridon replied.  “Fosco will be family head, not Master of Bag End.”

          “He won’t?” Lilac asked, startled out of her hysterics of a moment before.

          “No, he won’t.  Fosco will be family head, but Frodo’s chosen a different primary heir.”

          “But what other Baggins is there as he’d adopt?” asked Emro.

          Gander and Oridon exchanged glances.  “Fosco and Forsythia already are heirs to their parents’ estate as well as heirs to that portion of your estate you’ve promised them, as well as the farm shares they own from you and their real folks and what they’ll probably inherit from Daisy and Griffo Boffin when that time comes--hopefully not for some years yet.  They don’t need Bag End, too, and don’t particularly want it, either.  And Frodo Baggins is certainly entitled to choose his own heir, isn’t he?”

          “So, all right, what’s this about?  Why does Baggins want the children there?” Emro demanded.

          “It’s Baggins business,” Gander repeated.  “I’ll be a’takin’ them to Hobbiton, and I’ll bring ’em back when it’s done with.”

          There was nothing else the Gravellies could do.  Forsythia was already coming back to the door to the farmhouse from the corridor to the bedrooms, leading her brother, each of them carrying satchels of clothes necessary to see them through about a week.  Sythie kissed her foster parents, and Fosco gave each a hasty hug, then the two of them climbed into Gander’s trap for the trip to Hobbiton.  And when Lilac searched for the letters Oridon had brought for her foster children so she could figure out what the to-do was about, she realized they’d taken those letters with them, too.

 *******

          They were sitting down to supper when the wagons rattled up the lane to Bag End.  Sam went out, surprised.

          “We were told by the Thain to bring these,” said one of the carters.  “Where should we put them?”

          Sam watched as sides of beef and packages of pork and several cured hams and slabs of bacon and several cleaned and plucked chickens were brought in and installed in the cold room; and as bags of potatoes, turnips, and parsnips were taken through to the old cold room.  He showed them where to put a couple of bushels of beans and another couple of baskets of peas still in the pods; and watched in surprise as boxes of wrapped eggs were also unloaded, along with two sacks of walnuts and hazelnuts and a case of jars of preserves.  At last it was all neatly and carefully stored away, and the carters and their helpers were politely and most respectfully taking their leave.  As Frodo stood, leaning against the door to the dining room to find out what the fuss was about, they each paused by him, quietly murmuring their respects before they let themselves out, then turned to take their ponies and wagons back to the Tooklands.

          Sam went back to his interrupted dinner totally flustered, looking across at Frodo, who’d returned to his own seat with a shrug.

          But the carters, when they returned home, carried the tale of the Thain’s cousin standing, leaning against the frame of the door, his face pale as porcelain, his eyes shadowed, a pale image of himself from the days the sight of Frodo Baggins rambling through the Shire was common.

 *******

          The Thain and Master and their parties returned to Bywater at sunset, and together walked up the Hill to Bag End about an hour later, having taken their meal at the Green Dragon.  Frodo was seated on the bench with Merry and Freddy flanking him, Pippin, Folco, and Brendi and the Hobbitesses seated on the ground as Sam stood, leaning against the door cutting as he described the wedding feast for Lord Strider and the Lady Arwen.  Now and then Merry or Pippin would interrupt him to add a detail, and the newcomers stood, watching and listening, as the tale progressed.

          “Now, the pheasant as was served--never tasted the like afore,” Sam was saying.

          “And to see the vegetables with a wine sauce and chopped nuts over them--I would never have thought to put a wine sauce on turnips, but whatever it was Aragorn’s cook did to it, it was superb.”  Merry’s face was alive with the memory.

          “Was it really so very good, Frodo?” Freddy asked.

          “I don’t know, for I was given rice and a special sauce for it, with lots of finely diced beef and vegetables in it.  I learned later that the Lady Arwen herself visited the kitchens and prepared it just for me, believing I could eat it.  It’s the only sauce I’ve ever seen that made rice palatable.”

          Eglantine Took was shocked.  “You ate rice, Frodo Baggins?”

          Pippin laughed.  “Mum--what was he to do?  His own personal healer had indicated he should be served it whenever he could be convinced to eat it; and when your healer is also your King, it doesn’t do well to try to say no to him.”

          “I’d only eat it with the Queen’s own sauce on it, though,” Frodo sighed.  “I was served a good deal of sauce of apples and curds and whey, so much so at times I felt I couldn’t bear to eat more of them.  But I would eat them anyway in preference to rice.”

          “Most of the time he’d just pick out the meat and vegetables and eat those and leave the rice,” Merry added, watching down the lane as two more figures came up it.  “Who’s that?”

          As they turned up the steps to Bag End and came through the gate to the hedge, it became obvious these were Griffo and Daisy Boffin.  Daisy stalked up the steps so stiffly her steps could be heard, and all watched her with amazement.  She looked about at the company gathered, spotted Frodo on the bench, and resumed her stalk until she was before him, at which time she went down on her knees to look him in the face.  “What in Middle Earth is the meaning of this, Frodo Baggins?” she fumed, shaking a letter in his face.  “Sun and Moon, you couldn’t let me know in a proper manner--you have to send me a letter to invite me to your funeral?  And it takes Rico Clayhanger and Will and Mina Whitfoot to tell me that you, my own cousin, are dying?”

          Tears where streaking her face, and Frodo closed his eyes.  “Oh, Daisy--I didn’t want you to worry for me....”

          “Worry for you?  Yet you appear to have told half the Shire!” she said, waving at those who stood about the stoop.

          Merry stood up.  “Calm yourself, Daisy--he told only Freddy, Budgie, and Viola, and he swore even those to secrecy--oh, and Brendi, also.  The rest of us either figured it out or were told by someone else, or came to find out what was going on.  Gandalf hunted Pippin and me down and made us come.  Frodo didn’t even tell Sam and Rosie until he couldn’t help it--not that they hadn’t figured it out already.”

          Griffo stood stiffly and warily behind his wife, his eyes worried and sad.  “Then, it’s true, Frodo?”

          At last Frodo nodded.  “I haven’t much time left.  This--” he lifted the mug beside him, “is a special draught sent home with us by Elrond himself.  It helps a good deal, but it can’t sustain me indefinitely.”  He took a deep breath.  “It’s likely that--that when it comes, it will strike quickly.  I doubt when that happens I’ll be able to do much for myself from that point on.  I may or may not be able to talk.  I--I don’t know what precisely to expect.  I’ll undoubtedly fight it for as long as I can, until--until I can’t any more.  Then I’ll--let go.  I hope the worst of the--the painful part will be over by then.”

          The anger had drained out of Daisy, and she leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, crying.  Frodo set the mug down, slipped from his seat with a quickly stifled gasp of pain, and reached out to draw her to him.  “It’s all right, Daisy.  I swear, it’s all right.  I’ll get through it--well,” he said with a wry smile, “I suppose--I have no choice at this point.”  Then he began saying things to her in Sindarin.

          “What’s he saying?” Bard whispered to Sam.

          “That he loves her and leaves only because he has no choice, that he’s glad as he could come back and see her home and happiness restored afore the end,” Sam said quietly.

          A spasm of pain crossed Frodo’s face, and he stiffened.  Daisy, shocked out of her grief, also went rigid in his arms, fearful she might have triggered the very shock of which he’d just spoken.

          Budgie was immediately on his feet, hurrying forward to lay his finger along the pulse of the throat.  He looked across at the Thain and Master, both of whom were also white with shock.  “Another small seizure of his heart.  Get that draught into him if he can take it,” he directed over his shoulder to Sam.  The gardener nodded as he leaned over Merry to fetch the mug.

          Frodo couldn’t accept it, however.  Instead he began to retch, and Budgie roughly wrenched Daisy away as Merry knelt on the other side of Frodo to support him while Sam dropped the mug unheeded to place his hand on Frodo’s near shoulder.  “It’s all right, my dear,” he said as steadily as he could.  “It’s all right.”

          Brendi went hurrying into the hole, back to the kitchen, to fetch Sam’s own tea, and Bard was keeping a reassuring hand on Ferdi’s shoulder, leaning forward to tell him what was happening.  At last the retching was over, and all Frodo had eaten for dinner was lost.  He knelt, weak and shaking, supported by Merry and Sam, Rosie slipping her apron off to wipe his face with it.

          At last Budgie looked away from Frodo to Brendi, who’d come out with the teapot and a fresh mug, his hand shaking as he filled it.  Frodo’s hands were shaking too hard to properly grasp it, so Sam took it and held it to Frodo’s lips.  “Drink it slow, Mr. Frodo, sir.  Drink it slow and steady.”

          Frodo gave a weak nod, and sipped at it, rinsed out his mouth with it, then spat it out.  Then and only then did he begin swallowing it.  When he indicated he couldn’t take more, Sam nodded and pulled back. 

          Sara and Pal came forward.  “We’ll see you into bed, Frodo.  After a seizure such as this you need to rest.”

          “Yes,” Frodo whispered, although it took Merry to get him to his feet, at which time the two older Hobbits each put a shoulder under an arm and took him back into the smial.

          Griffo and Narcissa were supporting a white Daisy between them.  Only when time had been given for Frodo to be taken back through the hole to the privy and the bedrooms did the others enter Bag End themselves, gathering in the parlor.  Daisy was pressed into Frodo’s chair and Narcissa spread the laprug over her knees.  Several faces were as pale as hers by this time.

          Estella was shaking her head.  “Then it is true, then.”

          “No one was lyin’ to you, Miss Estella,” Rosie assured her.

          “So I see,” Eglantine said.  “This is what he almost came to, there in May, in the Great Smial.”

          Freddy answered, “Yes.  He definitely had at least one small seizure of his heart last spring while we were here--possibly two or three, Budgie told us.”  He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it.  “And last summer--the heat--his heart was laboring so--didn’t quite have one, but came so close to it.”

          Bard was shaking.  “He lost what he ate after he left your private parlor, Aunt Lanti.  He was almost as bad as this then.  I’ve seldom seen Willi so grim.”

          Pippin was wiping away tears.  “I’ll get a bucket of water--wash away where he was sick.”

          Merry, who’d drawn Estella down to sit beside him on the wooden settle in the far corner of the room, gave his younger cousin a nod of approval.  “Thank you, Pip.  I’m a bit shaken myself.  When I can stand again I’ll come help.”

          Narcissa stood with her hands wrapped about her.  “So, we’re getting closer, are we?”

          Esmeralda put her arm around the younger Hobbitess’s shoulders.  “So it would seem, dearling.”

 *******

          It was quite some time before Budgie came out.  “He’s over the worst of it.  Master Samwise, when you have time, if you could make a half portion of the draught for him.  I fear to give him more than that right now, as I’m not certain how much he retained.  Some of those herbs, if given more than what has been ordered, are very dangerous.”

          Sam nodded.  “I’ll go and get it started now, then,” he said as he rose and headed for the kitchen.

          Only when Frodo had swallowed it and the water brought to wash away the taste did Budgie indicate the others might come, no more than one or two at a time, to reassure themselves that Frodo was recovering.

          Sam knelt by the bed while Paladin went out to convey the healer’s words to the rest of the company.  “You feelin’ any better, Master?” he asked.

          “Yes,” Frodo whispered.  “Don’t be afraid for me, Sam.”

          “I suppose as it’s easier for you to say than for me to do, Frodo.”

          Frodo smiled and his eyes closed.  “Dying----”

          The thought filled Sam’s mind, Dying isn’t an easy business, apparently.

          After a moment of quiet, Sam asked, “Is it hard for you to talk, Mr. Frodo?

          A weak nod.  I wish I could explain it to you.

          “Explain it to me?” Sam repeated aloud.

          Frodo’s eyes opened with surprise.  “You--you know what--what I’m thinking?”

          “You thought that, Master?”

          Another nod.

          “What----How?”

          Like the Lady--in Lothlorien, or when they were speaking mind to mind, there in Hollin...?  Frodo took a breath and winced.

          “I’ll leave and let the others come.”

          “No.”  Please stay by me Sam.

          “Stay by you, Master?” Sam asked.

          “Please.”

          Budgie finally agreed, but had Sam sit in one of the wing chairs in the corner.

          None stayed long.  It was plain Frodo was quite weak, and most of them restricted themselves to holding his hand and wishing him well, his aunts leaning over to kiss his forehead and glad to see him smile back.

          Daisy and Griffo were among the last.  “I’m so sorry, Frodo,” Daisy said in a small voice.

          “You--you couldn’t help it, Daisy.  And--and it wasn’t really you.  It--it was coming.  Worse is coming.  I’m sorry--sorry I hurt--I hurt you.”

          “I was so foolish.  I should have realized what might happen if--if I distressed you.  You--you warned me, there in that foolish letter.”

          Frodo held her hand, and she felt the fear leave her, realized, as weak as he was at the moment, Frodo truly didn’t blame her or wish her to feel guilty.

          “I love you, you foolish Baggins, you.  We need to go back--the twins should be here tomorrow, I think.”

          He gave her hand a weak squeeze and let go.  He looked up at Griffo.

          “This was perhaps not the best way to break the news, Frodo Baggins.”

          Frodo surprised them all by letting out a weak laugh.  “Maybe not,” he whispered.  “Thank you, Griffo--for--for everything.”  Again his eyes closed.  By the time the Boffins were gone and the next two entered, Frodo had fallen asleep, and his troubled breathing could be plainly heard.

          Sam watched as the few left to come through did so, realizing Frodo was no longer awake, but leaning over to kiss his brow gently or squeezing his hand.  Then he went to find some more pillows and help Budgie set them behind Frodo’s torso to lift him up higher.

Accepting a Gift

          Budgie and Sam both kept watch from the wing chairs in Frodo’s bedroom that night.  Sam set athelas leaves to steep in the kettle he hung over the hearth, and placed a freshly brewed mug of his tea on the table by the side of the bed.  Throughout most of the earlier evening Frodo’s breath was labored, but at last it eased, and the color to his face was less blue. 

          Sometime in the early morning hours Sam noted Budgie had fallen asleep; and soon after he, too, slept.  He snapped awake as the sky outside finally lightened, suddenly frightened as he didn’t hear Frodo’s breathing.  But when he looked at the bed, he saw it was empty, as was the mug of tea.  He was on his feet in an instant, and set off to search the smial.

          The bathing room was empty, as was the privy.  He heard a noise in the kitchen, and that was where he found his Master, paused in the midst of preparing breakfast to cough.  “It’s Freddy’s birthday today,” he said when he could talk again, “and I wanted to do something special for him....”

          Sam felt weak-kneed with relief.  “Well, at least let me help you some.  I suspect as you oughtn’t to be up, even.  But, stubborn soul as you is, that won’t stop you, will it?”

          Frodo was sitting at the table where he’d been shaving slices from the slab of bacon.  “What does it--does it matter, Sam?  It’s not for that much longer, you know.  No need trying--trying to put off what can’t be stopped.”

          Sam nodded his understanding.  He placed a large bowl on the work table, then fetched eggs and began cracking them into it.  Once he’d put in four for each one present in the house, he brought the bowl and the whisk to Frodo to do the mixing, and he took over the slicing of the remaining bacon.

          Once the bacon was cooking he set Frodo to toasting the bread, settling him into Rosie’s rocking chair near the fire with toasting fork and a sliced loaf of bread by him while Sam set to preparing the batter for the special iron the Dwarves made so long ago for old Mr. Bilbo.

          Rosie was the first one into the kitchen, and didn’t appear to be remarkably surprised to see Frodo at his task.  “Don’t want to stay abed, do you, then?” she asked.

          “I told them I won’t be more of an invalid than I am,” he said stubbornly, and she laughed.

          By the time the rest began to straggle out of their rooms breakfast was ready, and everyone noted a package lay by Freddy’s place at the table.  He opened it, but didn’t show it to anyone else, reading the small square of paper he found in its wrappings and stowing both the square and the item in his pocket with a smile he shared with Frodo.

          “So,” Budgie said as he cut up his waffled cake, “you felt well enough this morning to get up, did you?”

          Frodo nodded.  At last he said, “I woke from--from a dream, and couldn’t sleep again.  I often feel better--for getting up and doing--doing something worth doing.  And I was hungry.”

          “I’d suppose you would be,” Saradoc noted quietly, “having lost your supper and eaten nothing afterwards.”

          Frodo shrugged and gave a soft smile.  He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

          Frodo tried to help after breakfast, but couldn’t stand long.  At last he was settled again in Rosie’s chair and allowed to dry dishes as they were rinsed and to stack them neatly on the table for Sam to put away.  He was then aided to the study where he settled on the sofa.  Budgie brought him several of the pillows from his bed and set them behind him, and with the over-large shawl over him he at last admitted he was comfortable and agreed to rest, and that he would speak with only one or two at a time.  Merry carried in a couple of comfortable chairs from a bedroom or two, and all at last appeared satisfied.

          Sam and Brendi were the first he asked to have come to him.  “I wish as you’d gone with the Elves and Gandalf and old Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said as he sat in Frodo’s desk chair, avoiding the two softer ones Merry had brought in.

          Frodo shook his head.  That question had already been settled.

          “Why did you want me’n Rosie to have Bag End?”

          “You’re my heir, Sam--I adopted you as it.  Everything--everything I’ve had and--and might have had, been and might have been, I leave to you.  You’re the--the husband I’ll never be, the--the father I’ll never be.  You will fill this hole with the family it deserves and that--that you and Rosie deserve.  The Hill will be--will be alive, and the Shire will be alive--alive and happy, too.  You’ll read from the Red Book, and keep--alive the memory of--of what was lost.  You’ll be the most famous gardener there is, and you’ll--you’ll be Mayor, for as many terms as you wish.” 

          He coughed.  “You love Bag End--as much as I do, don’t you?  Isn’t it--isn’t it as beautiful as it is--because of you?  Don’t you deserve it?  Didn’t you--didn’t you manage not--not to be taken by It?  Didn’t I do--do what I did only because--because you were with me?

          “You’re the closest of--of the brothers not born to me--you, Aragorn, Merry, Pippin, Freddy, Folco, Brendi, Ferdi.  You’re far more the one--the one who--who keeps Bag End alive than I do.”  Frodo closed his eyes and laid his head back.  His breathing finally calmed.  He made a gesture at Brendi.

          Brendi looked from his cousin and employer to Sam.  “He has every right to do what he’s done, and as one who’s ever done whatever you could to assist him however you saw he needed it, I doubt there are more than two or three in the whole Shire who would question his judgment, certainly not his closest cousins or anyone here today.  Griffo Boffin signed the adoption papers, after all, as one of the witnesses, and did so only because Daisy had agreed.”

          Sam nodded his understanding.

          They were quiet for a time until Frodo murmured, “I’m thirsty.”

          Sam helped him sit up, and Brendi helped him drink, after which he suffered a bout of coughing that left him breathless and trembling.  As Sam finally eased him back against the pillows, he smiled tremulously up at them both.  “Did I--ever tell--tell you--how much--I love you both?” he asked.  He turned his face toward the window, sighed, closed his eyes, and drifted off into sleep.

          Sam slid his chair into the corner, and nodded at Brendi.

          It took much of the day for Frodo to speak with each of those in the smial.  He accepted his draughts, and by afternoon was able to make it to the privy and back unaided.  He often dozed off, reminding Sam of old Mr. Bilbo both the last time they’d seen him in Rivendell and during the meeting in the Woody End, but he was always aware of what had been said.

          Others came from the inns to speak with him in the afternoon and early evening, by which time he was seated in one of the comfortable chairs Merry had brought.  Had they not trusted the words of those who had seen him the previous evening and much of the day, many wouldn’t have believed the reports of just how ill he was.

          That night Merry and Pippin made it plain they would be spending the night with Frodo, which made him smile.  It was after midnight when Sam slipped into the room to find Merry and Frodo deeply asleep while Pippin lay on his back, soundlessly weeping as shown by the reflection of his tears in the light of the stars from the window.  He turned his head only enough to acknowledge Sam’s inspection, and reassured, Sam left them to it and went back to his own bed, where Rosie awaited him and embraced him, and the two of them found themselves reaffirming their commitment to their love for one another and life itself, and for the shining soul preparing to leave the smial and life both.

          The next morning Frodo rose early, seeming almost well, certainly happy and assured.  He accepted his draught and drank it down with his customary grimace, washing it down with a sweetened cup of Sam’s tea.

          There was little coughing, and his speech, although it was rather slow and precise even for him, didn’t show the hesitation it had acquired as his health had deteriorated.  There was even color in his cheeks.

          He insisted they walk to the Green Dragon for luncheon.  He didn’t eat much while they were there, but he was there, and alive and aware and obviously happy.  Many of the more regular patrons watched the tables where his family were congregated surprised, for it certainly didn’t appear Frodo Baggins was indeed failing as had been reported.  Not until they were on their way back did Frodo show any indication of discomfort, for he suddenly stopped and clutched at his shoulder as if it pained him.

          “Another seizure, Mr. Frodo?” asked Budgie.

          Slowly Frodo shook his head.  “Just--just shadows,” he said, straightening some.  “Not the other--not yet, and not--not a seizure.”

          But that stop was also seen by some of the folk who’d been in the Dragon for their own luncheons, and they realized that perhaps Mr. Baggins wasn’t as well as he had appeared inside.

          A tureen of soup had been accepted by Mac, who’d stayed in Bag End while the others were gone, watching Drogo and little Elanor while their mothers went with the rest.  Frodo had some of it, and indicated he would take a nap.  Elanor, who reportedly had been fractious and refused to nap while the adults were gone, now settled happily down to sleep beside him, although neither slept more than an hour.  Then Frodo was up, the over-large shawl about his shoulders as he sat in his desk chair in the study and spoke with those who’d come from Buckland, Michel Delving, and elsewhere over the space of the afternoon, a mug of soup and a second of Sam’s tea or juice ever by him. 

 *******

          At one point Paladin Took opened the door to the study to allow two young Hobbits, a lad and a lass, to enter.  Frodo’s lips parted.  “Fosco?  Forsythia?  You came?”

          “Mr. Oridon and Gander Proudfoot brought us, Iorhael,” the lad answered as the two hurried to hug him.

          “Oh, children--how glad I am to see you!”

          “We--we thought you’d go by the ship, Iorhael,” said the lass.  “Why didn’t you go with them?”

          “How do you know about the ship?” Frodo asked, a distinct flush to his cheeks.

          “They told us, the Elves who sang at the Free Fair.  They said you’d have to leave by ship or grave.”

          The lad asked, “Why--why did you decide to die?”

          Frodo shook his head.  “We’ll all die someday, Fosco.  It’s part of being alive, knowing you’ll die someday.  If I’d gone--it would have been almost the same as if I’d died for--for those of you who stayed behind.  And I suppose it would have been that way for me, too, for I’d never have been able to come back.  I still would never have seen you again.

          “But I’m a Hobbit of the Shire, Fosco, and a mortal.  If I’d gone there, I wouldn’t be a Hobbit of the Shire any more.  I don’t know what I’d be there, but I’d change.  And in the end I’d still die, even there.  It might not be for years and years, but I’d still die.  I decided I’d rather stay here.  I love the Shire, and I want to stay a Hobbit of the Shire for whatever time I’m given.  I know it’s not long now, but then none of us is guaranteed how long we’ll remain.”

          He straightened and looked at both of them.  “I don’t want you to be here--when it happens.  I’m afraid--afraid it won’t be easy--when it comes.  It will be memories that kill me, you see.  Bad memories.”

          “Memories of when you took the bad thing away?”

          Frodo nodded.  He looked at the lad.  “You’ll be the Baggins after me, Fosco, and--and I suppose you’ll be Lord Baggins after me as well.  Sam’s my heir within the Shire.  You’re my heir outside of it, for he’s a lord in his own right.  Do you understand?”

          “Not fully.”

          Frodo sighed, then laughed.  “That’s all right.  I’ve never seen much sense to it, myself, you must realize.”  He hugged them once more.  “Remember me gently, children.  And live for as long as you’re given as fully as you can.  I’m only glad I can take the memory of you with me.  It will help me to fight the bad ones.”

          After they left, Sam asked, “Those are related to you, then?”

          Frodo, looking after them, nodded.  “My cousins.  Daisy’s much younger brother and sister.  My uncle Dudo remarried later in life, and these two were born just before he died.  I’ve visited them a few times a year since a couple of years after their mother died, when they were six.”

          “You never told me.”

          Frodo leaned back in his chair.  “There’s not many I have told.  But not even you know everything there is about me, Samwise Gamgee.”  He rubbed at his shoulder, then reached for his mug.  “It’s aching again.”

 *******

          At suppertime, after all of those from elsewhere had gone back to the inns, again Frodo sat at the table, still wrapped in the shawl.  Estella looked at it with a sigh.  “I don’t know how you can bear that, Frodo.”

          He looked surprised.  “Why shouldn’t I like it?” he asked.  “It’s warm and soft and just the right size to keep me--keep me comfortable and wrapped around with--with the realization of love.  And I love who gave it to me.”

          Estella blushed.  “I was so young when I knit it for you, and I didn’t know how to cast off, and it seemed to go on forever.”

          His smile lit the room.

          Only when the meal was over did his energy appear to flag.  “I think perhaps,” he said, “perhaps I should go back to bed.  Again I’m very tired.”

          Esmeralda and Eglantine went with him this time, shocked to realize, once they were back in the bedroom how suddenly the last of his strength seemed to be failing him.  Lanti came out and fetched Sam.  “I think we need your help,” she said quietly.

          He nodded and came back with her.

          Frodo’s shirt was off of him, and Esme was holding it, staring aghast at the stain across the neck and back of it.

          “Orcs and spiders!” Sam exclaimed, looking at where Frodo sat on the wooden chair for the table by the window, clutching at the seat with his hands.  “It’s infected again?”

          Frodo gave a small nod, his face white.

          Sam sent Eglantine off to fill the kettle and have Pippin fetch some fresh athelas from the garden.  Folco brought in a basin and soap and cloths, while Merry brought towels and Budgie bandages.  It took time to drain the wound and see it dressed, after which Sam washed the drainage from Frodo’s hair and wrapped it in a towel, then left Esmeralda to finish bathing Frodo as she could.  Saradoc came to help get Frodo into a clean nightshirt, and between Brendi and Narcissa they got his hair dried and brushed.  Finally Pippin and Merry lifted him into his bed, with Viola placing the cushions and pillows.

          The rest had gathered in the dining room, each with something by them to drink.  Esmeralda took a large sip of wine to steady herself.  “He was so much better today....” she whispered.

          Budgie looked from face to face before he answered her.  “It’s not--not uncommon in those who are dying--the last shining of the candle’s flame before it’s totally spent.”

          All looked stricken.

          At last Viola came out.  “He wants to see Elanor and Drogo once more,” she said simply.

          Elanor insisted on sitting up by him on the bed, and Drogo lay by him and fell swiftly and, to judge by his face, quite happily, asleep.  Frodo kept a hand on the infant’s head, and turned to watch and listen to Elanor in her babbling.  Then his eyes closed and he drifted into a doze, and Elanor leaned to touch his cheek gently.  “Fo,” she said, very quietly.

          Sam lifted her up.  “Your uncle’s very tired now, sweetling.  Very tired.  I suspect as he won’t be gettin’ up with you tomorrow, he’s so tired.”

          She nodded as if she understood, and turned her head to bury her face against his shoulder.  Then she looked up at him, murmuring, “Da?”

          Tears of mingled joy and grief poured down Sam Gamgee’s face as he held her close.  “Yes, dearling, my dear one, I’m your da.”

          At Budgie’s suggestion the children were taken down to the Proudfoot’s hole at Number 5.

          It was near nine when Frodo’s eyes opened again.  Sam sat on the wooden chair, and Saradoc and Paladin had the wing chairs while Merry perched on Frodo’s footstool and Pippin sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall near the fireplace.  Budgie sat on a chair from the dining room set just inside the door.  The kettle over the hearth gave forth the scent of athelas, the scent of the sea tonight, mixed with the scent of the garden of Bag End in May.  “Sam?” Frodo whispered.

          Immediately Sam was up, then leaning over the bed, taking Frodo’s maimed hand in his own.  Frodo smiled faintly.  “Take me----” Frodo whispered.  Outside, under the stars.

          Sam turned toward Saradoc Brandybuck.  “In the wardrobe there, on the shelf--the roll with the rug and the blankets in it.”  With no question, Sara was rising to fetch them as Sam pulled the blankets away, pulling the top one from the bed and wrapping it tightly about Frodo.

          He looked to Paladin Took.  “Bring as many cushions as you can carry, and the same for you two,” he said to Budgie and Merry.  He looked at Pippin.  “Bring the kettle, and the starglass,” he directed as he lifted Frodo in his arms.

          “Where are you going?” demanded Budgie.

          “Out--atop the Hill.  He wants to be under the stars.”

          Pando Proudfoot was sitting outside the door, and at a quiet word from Sam he ran to the dining room to fetch the others.  A strange procession they made as Sam led the way out the back door and turned toward the back of the hill and the blue stone steps to the top.

          Saradoc unrolled everything, and between them Esme and Lanti spread the rug.  Sam sat down on it, still holding Frodo in his arms.  Sara carefully tucked the blankets over Frodo.  It was then the memories hit.  Frodo gave an unearthly wail of terror and pain, and all could see them take him.

 *******

          For two days Beligard Took followed the strangers he’d admitted to the Shire before he lost them.  At that time he cursed and set himself to riding as fast as he could to Bywater, where he took his pony into the stable at the Green Dragon.

          “He might share a stall with the Thain’s pony,” the stablehobbit told him, “but there’s no other room to be had.”

          “Pal’s here then, is he?  At Bag End?”

          “What you been doin’ to this pony?” the stablehobbit demanded.  “He’s exhausted!  Needs a good walkin’ out.”

          “Bounder business, it is,” Beli answered him.  “There are strangers in the Shire, and I thought as I’d best let the Thain and the Mayor know.  We been ridin’ hard the last day, we have, Pilsner’n me.”

          “Mayor’s stayin’ with Griffo and Daisy Boffin,” he was told.  “Thain’s at Bag End.  Word was Frodo Baggins was fadin’, but he seemed well enough when he come in here at noon, he did.  Though there’s them as says he had an attack of some kind on the way home.”

          “Thain’s the one I really want to see,” Beli told him.  “Set a lad to walkin’ him out for me.  I need to get to Bag End.”

          But no one seemed to be in the smial once he got there.  Where in Middle Earth did they get to? he wondered.  And then he heard the worst cry he’d ever heard, almost right over his head.  Shocked, he looked up.  Someone must be getting killed, right there atop the Hill!  But who, and how?  And how was he to get up there to see?
          Beligard Took began running around the hill, climbing the rough slope where the hedge met it on the south side, trying to find the best way up the hill.  He passed an outcrop of rock and tripped, rolling forward and down, down into the orchard.  That horrible wailing was continuing, up there, right at the crown of the Hill.  Then he saw a bright shining before him, further through the orchard, and he saw three bright, steady glows and one, silver as the distant stars, that pulsed as the stars do, tall, Man-like shapes headed up the Hill as fast as they could go.  Scrambling to his feet, Beli hurried after them and the one more solid, normal shadow, still big and hulking for the Shire but wonderfully familiar for all that, that was already scrambling noisily after the silent shining ones. 

          One of the ones with the steady glow went first, leading the way.  The wailing stopped from time to time for breath, then continued, then was abruptly cut off.  Then he heard, very loud and clear, a single word, “NO!”  The shining ones were rounding the north side of the Hill, and then going more quickly upward, as if there were steps there to give them purchase.  As he finally turned after them, Beli realized there were steps there, and he was grateful for them as he followed, a stitch aching in his side, the last of the way up.

          His question as to where the folk of Bag End were was now answered.  They were gathered in a rough circle around two who sat and lay upon the ground, and all eyes were now turned toward the shining forms who’d paused outside their bounds.

          One of those on the ground was Frodo Baggins’s gardener, Samwise Gamgee, who breathed a sigh of relief.  “Strider!” he cried. “Strider!  You come!  Hurry--the memories--they’re tryin’ to take him.”

          The one who’d been a normal shadow, if bulky, proved to be the Dwarf, and the three shining ones with the steady glow were unquestionably the three Elves.  But it was the one with the pulsing, silver Light that went forward, the crowd of Hobbits opening readily to let him through, going forward to kneel by Gamgee, who could now be seen to be holding another Hobbit in his arms--Frodo Baggins, Beli realized.  Never had he seen such an expression on anyone’s face in his life, and it shook him to the core, that look on Frodo’s face, that look that could be seen in the Light emitted by the one now kneeling by him.

          This one was a Man, a far taller Man than Beli had ever seen, even as familiar as he had become with the King’s kinsmen.  Like the Rangers, he was dressed in riding leathers under that cloak of his, rough and worn, if once fine looking.  Like the Rangers he wore a swordbelt, its sheath splaying awkwardly behind him.  He had a short beard and hair to his shoulders.  He looked rough as if he’d been doing nothing for riding for days.  His forehead was drawn with concern.  But there was a competence there--competence and authority, as he reached forward to lay a beringed hand on Frodo’s forehead.  The ring on his forefinger glowed green in the starlight, and something else caught the same glow, apparently a far greater jewel the Man wore at his throat.

          “Frodo!” he said, a Command.  “Frodo--they are but shadows and have no strength but fear.  You know how to fight that fear.  Turn from them.”

          Frodo’s eyes, that had been open and staring and unfocused, turned up toward the face of the Man.  “The--pale king.  Spider----”  Fear could be seen there.

          “Lord Iorhael, your King commands you to attend to him.  Turn from the Shadow and heed it not.”

          There was another expression battling with the terror that had filled Frodo’s face.  Gradually the other expression began to win out, and the terror faded.  There was hope there.

          “Good, you have fought well, the terror, the memories.  You have fought and now you win.”

          “Spider,” breathed Frodo.  “Neck--hurts.”  The next breath was shuddering, but something else was easing. “Elessar....”

          “It is at your command, Frodo.  Use what you need of its power, its strength.”

          A slight shake of the head.  “You, Aragorn.”  The words were so soft, yet all heard them.  Frodo fumbled his hand free of the blankets around him.  He was grasping something--then let it go, a jewel of some kind that glowed pure as starlight against the coverings.  The Man set his own hand over Frodo’s.

          They were all three glowing now, the Man, Frodo Baggins, and the Hobbit who held him in his arms.  Frodo’s glow matched that of the Man.  It had been pulsing quickly and somewhat erratically, and now that pulse was slowing, slowing to match better the pulsing of the Man.  That of Samwise Gamgee was golden, and its pulsing was also slowing, although it had been steady throughout, Beli realized.

          Peregrin Took stepped forward, bowing deeply, clutching an ordinary kettle in his hands.  “Athelas, my Lord King,” he said, setting the kettle down by the Man and removing the lid.

          “Who set it to steep?”

          “Sam did.”

          The Man smiled and leaned his face over it, breathing deeply.  He shifted to sit on the ground and held out his arms.  Reluctantly Sam gave over the form he held, the Man taking Frodo’s body gently into his own sure grasp.

          One of the Hobbitesses present had cloths with her, and the Man accepted one, dipped it into the kettle, gently wiped it over Frodo’s face and hands.  He pulled back the blankets and shifted the neck of the nightshirt Frodo wore, then looked up.

          “It’s draining again?” he asked Sam, who nodded.  “It’s time to end that,” he said quietly.  “Frodo, I’m going to probe this.  I don’t think it can do much more harm at this point, but I’ll not have you continue with whatever is in there now.  Are you willing?”

          A soft whisper:  “Yes, Aragorn.  The spider--wants--wants removing.”

          He looked about, saw the cushions and pillows held there.  In moments they were placed in accordance with the quiet directions of one of the two dark-haired Elves while the other was aiding the Man to remove the nightshirt and the bandage.

          The golden-haired Elf and the Dwarf were clearing a space, and a lad was sent down the hill to fetch kindling and firewood.  Soon a blaze was going in the improvised firepit.

          “I’ll need light,” the Man said.

          Pippin was pulling something out of his pocket that glowed somewhat in his hand.  “The Phial of Galadriel,” he advised the Man.

          The Man--Aragorn?  the King?--smiled and nodded at the gardener.  “Let Sam hold it--it will glow brightest for him, after Frodo.”

          The Dwarf was slipping a red bag off his shoulder, setting it by the King, who opened it and reached in, finally bringing out a heavy roll of cloth, one he unfastened with one hand and flicked open with a practiced movement to lie flat on the blankets.  The firelight shone on bone handles and steel instruments.

          Merry and Pippin were taking Frodo from the Man and laying him, face down, on the cushions, a gap allowing him room to breathe.  The Man searched among the instruments, finally choosing two, a fine pair of tongs and what appeared to be a knife of some sort with a very thin blade, pulling them a bit more than the others from the pockets where they lay to make them easier to grasp when they were needed.  A blanket was laid over Frodo’s back, then a second.

          At last the Man chose his place, then looked at Sam.  “Bring the Phial, and kneel there.”  As Sam did as was directed, he was asked to move his hand holding the glowing Phial first here, then there as the Man tried his own hand at various attitudes, finally leaving it steady when the Man said, “Yes, that is right.  There.”

          What appeared to be a fine glass bottle such as scent was sold in was in Sam’s hand, and as he held it the light grew steadier and brighter as he murmured words, the only one of which Beli could hear clearly was “Eärendil.”

          The Man was now holding out his hands as one of the dark-haired Elves poured water over them from the kettle; then the Man took the kettle and poured some of the liquid over the revealed wound on the back of Frodo’s neck while the golden-haired Elf accepted a cloth from the Hobbitess and dried away what flowed toward the pillows.  At a word from the King one of the stranger Hobbits, one who appeared to be a healer himself, came forward, had his hands cleansed with the water from the kettle, then knelt at Frodo’s head to hold his hair out of the way.

          “Frodo, I’m going to have someone hold your hands, one out to each side, to help you hold still.  Do you understand?”

          There was a murmured word, and Merry and Pippin came forward on each side, to take Frodo’s wrists and pull his arms out straight.

          “Now someone will kneel by your hips to help keep your back from bucking.  I fear this might hurt.  But the power of the Elessar is there for you to use as you need.  You know that--I’ve never withheld it from you.”

          “I know.”  Beligard heard that clearly enough.

          It was the Master who came forward to lay his hands on Frodo’s waist to help steady him.

          Then there was a quiet as the Man bowed his head, his lips moving.  He reached down and slipped the tongs out of their place, then held them in the flames till they glowed red, at which time he handed it to the Elf.  Then he did the same with that odd knife....

          The two dark-haired Elves began to sing, a tune with an odd cadence--repeated notes but with words of different lengths to them.  The golden-haired Elf joined the song, then Peregrin Took and Sam Gamgee.  The light in the gardener’s hand grew brighter, and it no longer pulsed as the Man leaned over Frodo’s neck and applied his blade.  His hand was sure and steady, and at last he gave a wordless cry, letting the knife fall to one side as he accepted the tongs from the Elf who held them, reached into the wound and probed, and brought out----

          He brought out what appeared to be a--a spider?

          There was a cry of disgust and fury from the golden-haired Elf, and a look of greater fury on the face of Gamgee.  “Shelob left her get in there?” the gardener said harshly.

          The Man examined the form caught in his tongs with dispassionate interest.  “No, not precisely her get--rather, her dam, who apparently has been trying to form a new shape for herself using Frodo’s own substance.  No wonder the wound kept reopening and the seepage was so foul!”

          The shape writhed and seemed to swell, but at a quiet word from the Man Sam lifted his hand so the light of the glass bottle he held fell squarely on it.  Yes, definitely a spider.  Beli could see both dark-haired Elves rise and draw back with looks of absolute loathing and righteous anger on their faces.

          “Ungoliant herself,” one of them murmured.

          “We deny you a new form,” the Man said.  “By Elbereth the Fair and Manwë Lord of Winds, by Ulmo of the Cleansing Waters and Estë, Lady of Healing, and by all who sit enthroned in Aman, we deny you and defy you and give you to the same end as he who brought you to your downfall!”  So saying, he flung the foul thing into the fire.

          There was a cry as horrible as that Frodo had given earlier in his own agony, and a shape went up in the smoke, the shape of a woman, beautiful and enticing and utterly horrible; and it rose high as if to obliterate the Stars themselves.  Only the Lights of the Man, Samwise Gamgee, and Frodo himself, who’d twisted his torso as if to see, his hands having been dropped by the two Captains, shone to overmatch the Darkness of the shape, and overhead Eärendil also shone to match the light in Sam’s hand, while the glow of the Elves also became almost unbearable.  At the Man’s throat the green gem also glowed, a clean, clear, healing green that further illuminated the Shadow shape, illuminated it--illuminated and undid it.  A fresh breeze from the West almost languidly blew the smoke away, dissipated it, unmade it.

          With the shadow gone, attention was turned back to Frodo, the wound quickly cleansed and bandaged, his body turned over and once again wrapped, loosely but protectively, with blankets.  Cushions and pillows were rearranged, and Frodo laid back on them.  His eyes were now closed, and his breathing rather harsh and ragged.  At last he opened his eyes.  “Aragorn....”

          “I am here, small brother.”

          Frodo smiled, and that smile seemed to reach right into Beli’s heart.  “Thank you.”  The words were whispered, but clear.  Then, after a pause, he whispered, “Free now.”

          “Yes, beloved one, you are free now.  You may stay or go as you wish.”

          “Can’t--can’t stay.  Not enough--left.”  The eyes, as clearly blue in the unearthly yet comforting Light that shone in that circle as they were in plain daylight, searched the face of the one who knelt over him, smiling easily.  He sought to lift his head, and immediately Merry was there to support him.  He looked about the circle and smiled.  “Love you--all.”  His eyes were clear, fully aware.  There was some pain, but much peace.  He closed his eyes, and Merry let him lie back against the pillows, and the dark began to return, a normal, autumn night in the Shire, as Sam set down the starglass on the rugs by Frodo’s shoulder and its light faded.

          After a time Frodo said, “Hungry.”

          One of the Elves pulled out of a satchel he carried a flattened bread, broke off a small piece, and gave it to the Man, who held it gently then placed it in Frodo’s mouth.  The other dark-haired one had brought out a small flask, and after uncorking it gave it to the Man, who lifted the Hobbit into a sitting position and gave him a sip of it.

          After swallowing both, Frodo was quiet again.  “I never thought,” he said at last, “I’d truly appreciate the taste of--of lembas again.  I was wrong.”

          There were smiles and some soft chuckles amidst the tears.

          “Sam?”

          “Yes, Master?”

          “Hold me again, please.”

          Sam settled himself by Frodo and held him in his arms.  Frodo smiled up into Sam’s eyes, then looked at the Man for quite a long time.  At last he said, “I can see them behind you, tall brother.”

          “Who?  Who do you see behind me?”

          “The others--your fathers, all of them, Kings, Kings and--and Chieftains, back--all the way back, to Elros and beyond.”

          Beligard looked, and he, too, seemed to see shapes behind the King, each shining, some more brightly than others, although their shapes seemed to disappear as the one at the very back came forward and down, a great, shining shape that passed through the Man to stand before the King.  Frodo’s eyes were shining in awe and delight and--and eagerness.

          Well done, you last three Sons of my Spirit.  Well done indeed! the shape seemed to say, looking at the Man and the two Hobbits between whom he stood.  Then its eyes fixed on Frodo’s.  Vingilot awaits.  I will gladly carry you where you would go, child.

          Frodo’s smile grew wider, and he reached out his hand----

 *

          A shining shape lifted away, joined the Light that stood in their midst, and together they began to pull away further, away and upward.  The gem lying on the Hobbit’s breast shone as bright as the Star of Eärendil overhead, and the green gem at the Man’s throat flared in answer, and the Light of Frodo’s body was gone, nothing left, and then all once again became normal--only a circle of Hobbits and three Elves and a Dwarf about a Man who sat on the ground and Samwise Gamgee, who held all that was left of the mortal remains of Frodo Baggins in his arms.

The Pall Bearer

          The doorbell to Garden Place in Hardbottle jangled, and Bartolo Bracegirdle immediately heard the cry of “I’ll get it!” from his daughter Begonia and the swish of her skirts as she raced to intercept the mail.  She’d been corresponding with a lass from Bree, and seemed to expect a new letter every day.

          Bartolo shook his head, partly amused, partly disgusted.  Really!  It was hard at times to remember that this was the eldest of his three daughters, for at times she seemed even less mature than Alyssa, who, at twelve, at least was expected to act a child yet.

          A moment later she poked her head into his study where he’d been working on a contract for a farmer in the far reaches of the South Farthing to sell his peaches to the purchaser for the Great Smial.  “There’s one for Mum from Cousin Angelica,” Begonia said as she lifted a letter from the small stack she was examining, “what appears to be the butcher’s bill and the notice for the village meeting next Monday, and one from Aunty Geli----”  She paused with concern, for she knew her father didn’t approve of Aunty Geli and Uncle Sancho, who’d scandalized the Shire by behaving in a most unseemly manner in order to convince their parents to allow them to marry while still several years short of being of age, then continued.  “Then there’s one from Michel Delving, and one--well, I’m not sure who this is from.”  She turned it over and paused at the inscription there, her eyes going wide.  “This one is from Cousin Frodo Baggins, Da.”  She handed it over with a good deal of respect, for her father had never received a letter sent to him by Cousin Frodo Baggins, not in her memory.

          Actually, Bartolo had received letters and notices from time to time from Frodo Baggins, or had done so during the months Frodo had served as deputy Mayor for the Shire.  But the last personal letter he’d received from the Baggins had been years ago, just after Gonya was born--a letter of condolences sent when his mother had died.

          “Is your mother home yet?” Bartolo asked as he accepted the letter, noting it was addressed to Master Bartolo and Mistress Delphinium Bracegirdle, Garden Place, Hardbottle, South Farthing, The Shire.

          “No, not yet.  She said she’d be stopping to see Aunty Lavinia on her way home from market.”  Gonya set the other letters on her mother’s desk and left, clutching the one note addressed to her.

          The Master of Garden Place frowned.  As a Bracegirdle born and bred, Bartolo’s mind tended to be rather rigid in its thinking; and presented with a letter addressed jointly to himself and his wife, it was his preference to open it only in Delphie’s presence and share it with her immediately.  The fact that this was a particularly thick letter had his interest piqued, however.  He dithered in his own mind as to whether or not he should open it, at last giving in to his curiosity and slipping his finger under the flap.

          The wax into which Frodo had pressed his stickpin that served him as a signet was from a green candle.  The envelope held two separate notes, in fact, the thicker of which was folded over and again sealed with a blob of green wax stamped with the star signet.  Noting that this packet had a further address of Personal to Bartolo, he felt relief, his conscience eased by the fact that within the initial envelope there had been something intended only for himself.  He set the other sheet aside, and broke the second seal, intent on learning what had inspired Frodo Baggins to write to him.  As he scanned it, however, his frown returned, deepening as he read further.

                                                          Bag End, Hobbiton

                                                          West Farthing, The Shire

                                                          September 15, 1421 S.R.

Bartolo,

          As I trust you remember, when I first approached you to engage your services to represent my legal interests before the outer realm, you at first indicated that there was only one service that you desired to offer me.  I responded that I would make note of that offer in my will, and I have done so.

          It appears that the time when that service will be required is at hand, and I feel duty bound to advise you of that fact.  I will not hold you to your stated offer, however; and so it is that should you choose not to so serve it is unlikely anyone will take offense.  After all, your dislike of me has been obvious for many years.  If, however, you are still willing to perform that service, I ask that you come to Hobbiton and on the evening of October seventh or morning of the eighth, before the hour of nine o’clock, seek out either Brendilac Brandybuck as my personal lawyer, Griffo Boffin as village head for Hobbiton, or Fosco Baggins as Baggins family head (if he is able to make the trip from his home, that is), and explain I had promised this office to you.

          “What’s he going on about?” Barti muttered to himself.  “Fosco Baggins is years from being of age as yet.  And since when is Frodo Baggins giving over his place as Baggins family head to a mere lad?  Or to anyone, for that matter?”

          I suspect that news of my death will come as a shock to many, including the majority of my extensive number of relatives.

          Barti stopped and read that last sentence over again, not quite believing what he’d read.

          I suspect that news of my death will come as a shock to many, including the majority of my extensive number of relatives.  I’ve done my best, after all, to conceal my worsening condition.  However, my swiftly approaching demise will be one turn of events I cannot look to hide successfully.  I expect there will be a good deal of confusion.

          I regret I cannot forewarn you as to how matters will go forward from the point of my leaving, and am only glad I won’t have to take part in making all of the decisions.  If I were to have my own way with the situation, all would be as simple, straightforward, and unadorned as possible.  However, due to the fact I am first cousin and former ward to the Master and second cousin to the Thain as well as my abiding friendship with their sons and heirs, the fact I served as deputy Mayor and my relationship by marriage to the Mayor of the Shire and village head for Hobbiton, not to mention my position in the outer realm and personal friendship with our Lord King Aragorn and his northern Steward, Lord Halladan, I suspect each party will demand a say in what is to be done.  Indeed it is probable Aragorn or Halladan (or both) as well as authorities of other lands and peoples will each send someone to represent them and the outer realm in whatever ceremonies should take place; and knowing my Uncle Saradoc there will undoubtedly be a good deal of ceremony to the affair.  I hope you can forgive me whatever elaborate observances you might be called upon to take part in at the time.  Again, I rejoice my own involvement will be limited to mere physical presence and nothing more.

          I grieve I must go with the antipathy you’ve ever felt toward me unresolved.  I have always found you to be markedly honest and possessed of the highest levels of integrity, painstaking in seeing to the interests of your clients (even when you loathe them on a personal level), and from all reports and the evidence of the love all relevant individuals show you a marvelous husband and father.  I have so envied you that love and regard, although I now understand all too well why it is that I do not share such depths of fortune.  I only hope that now that I must be away you will allow that long-held resentment toward me to fade, and that you will know peace now that in my absence from Bag End and the Shire I can no longer remind you of whatever slights have fed it over the years.  I only hope your long dislike of me is buried with everything else so that it does not continue to plague you for the rest of your life.

          Please assure Delphie of my continued love for her, and offer my final greetings and respects to your children.  I regret I never had much chance to come to know them personally.  I believe I would have rejoiced to do so, as I would have rejoiced to know a level of companionship with you.

                                                          With all respect,

                                                          Frodo Baggins

          Bartolo dropped the two sheets on which this had been inscribed on the contract upon which he’d been working when this remarkable missive had come to him, staring at them in consternation.  In the little personal contact he’d shared with Frodo Baggins in the last two years he’d become aware Frodo had been seeking to hide the fact he knew less than perfect health; but he’d seen and heard nothing to indicate he was fading.  And how could any individual be so certain of his impending passing from this life that he could predict when his funeral might be expected to be held?

          He heard the front door to the smial open and close.  “Begonia,” he could hear Delphie call, “is the sauce I asked you to make ready?”

          “Yes, Mother,” he heard his daughter answer from the depths of the hole.  “It’s covered and sitting on the work table.  And there are letters for you.  Da has them.”

          “Thank you, morsel,” Delphie called as she came down the passage toward the study.  “Please see to it these parcels are put into the kitchen immediately.”

          Barti hastily folded the note sent him by Frodo, and laying it on the desktop crossed his hands over it.

          “Hello, dearling,” his wife greeted him as she entered the chamber and crossed to him, dropping a kiss on the top of his head as she took her seat at the lower desk that was hers.  “Did you hear?  Rico and Angelica have suddenly left for Hobbiton--left this morning in all haste, apparently.  Angelica appeared quite upset about something.  I hope it’s not her father--Cousin Ponto has never fully recovered from the Time of Troubles, after all.”  She was going through the stack of missives, and slit open the butcher’s bill.  “Hmm.  Edvardo’s insisting we still owe him for that roast I sent back to him last month--the one that had so very much fat to it, do you remember?  Will you speak to him about it tomorrow, love?”

          Barti found he had to clear his throat before he could speak clearly.  “I--ahem--I don’t know if I can, Delphie--not tomorrow, at least.  A client--a client has asked I come meet with his representatives tomorrow night in the West Farthing.”

          She looked at him with surprise.  “What clients do you have in the West Farthing, Bartolo?  I mean, now that Aunt Lobelia is dead?  There aren’t other Bracegirdles there, are there?”

          He shrugged.  “There’s Bigelow and Bedro in Westhall, at least.”

          She gave a snort of disgust.  “Don’t tell me they’ve ever used you to see to their legal interests, or that you’d even consider accepting them as clients.  After all, Bigelow can call upon his brother at any time, even from his disgrace there.”

          Bigelow Bracegirdle had brought shame upon the family name by gambling with weighted dice, dosing ponies intended to race within a day or two, and other crooked gambling practices, ending with the banishment of himself and his lout of a son to Westhall on the northwest borders of the Shire.  Lothario had managed to escape the censure visited upon his elder brother and nephew, but it was no great secret he’d probably been complicit in more of Bigelow’s enterprises than could be proved.

          Barti merely shrugged.

          Delphie, however, was going through the stack and had come upon the letter from her sister, also named Angelica.  Angelica Baggins the Younger, as she’d been known before she shamed her parents and did what she’d done to force them to allow her to marry Sancho Proudfoot, was many years younger than Delphinium.  There had been four bairns born between the two sisters, all lads; but none had long survived.  Only one had managed to survive infancy--little Albro, who’d died yet a faunt of four years.  Always a delicate child, the tike had caught the catarrh one year and had died within a week.  One of the tiny lads had been stillborn, and the other two had died very shortly after their births. 

          It struck Barti, suddenly, that ill luck had followed the males born to the Baggins line for decades--Frodo was the only one of four lads reportedly conceived by Primula Brandybuck Baggins who’d lived, and even the one lass born to Primula and Drogo had come so prematurely she’d not lived more than a half hour after birth; Ponto and Iris had lost two lads, and none of Porto’s sons had managed to pass on the family name, either.  Certainly Frodo’s uncle Dudo had retired from society following the loss of his first wife, Camellia, and their newborn son not many years following Frodo’s own birth; and his son by his second wife, Emerald Boffin as was, had not only been born late in Dudo’s life, only a few weeks before Dudo’s death, in fact, but had been nearly blind all his life according to the few reports Barti had gleaned on the lad and his twin sister.

          All this went through Barti’s mind as he noted the smile of gentle gladness on his wife’s face as she examined the writing on the envelope she held, then slowly and with deliberate anticipation turned it to break the unadorned wax seal apparently spilled from a pale pink candle.  Due to Bartolo Bracegirdle’s obvious disapproval shown toward his wife’s sister, Geli had written infrequently at best, although Barti suspected she received far more frequent missives from Hardbottle than Delphie received from Hobbiton or Overhill where the two of them had been born and raised.

          The smile began to widen as Delphie read, then faded abruptly to be replaced by an expression of shock and horror.  “No!” Delphie said, suddenly, then turned to look at her husband.  “Barti--Barti, Frodo--it’s about my cousin Frodo--he’s dying!”

          Her hands were shaking as she set the missive on the desktop and smoothed it.  “She writes, Dear Delphie, I thought as you should know.  As you may have heard our cousin Frodo as lives here in Bag End in the Hill has known somewhat uncertain health since his return from foreign parts, which led to him refusing to run for Mayor at the Free Fair a year and a half gone.  Last fall and early winter he was quite ill from a bad cold as made its rounds hereabouts, and apparently had some malady last spring, for we didn’t see him out and about for some weeks after mid-March.  Pando, who loves spying on those as lives in Bag End, told me as he rarely came out of doors for weeks, and was quite pale when he did so following Fredegar Bolger’s visit there.  Since then he’s been remarkably quiet and absurdly thin, as you may have seen if you were at the Free Fair last Midsummer.

          “A week or so back he and Sam went off on their ponies for several days, and while they were gone his Took and Brandybuck and Boffin relations began to gather.  Sam apparently spoke to the Gaffer, who admitted as Master Frodo had been feeling poorly.  We sent him up some pies by way of Cyclamen and Pando, and Pando was most upset when he returned.  He says as Frodo’s very pale indeed and walks heavy, as if it’s difficult for him.  The Widow Rumble went up with a dish, and returned with the news that Frodo is indeed failing.

          “The Thain and his lady went back to Tuckboro for a few days, and returned last night.  It appears it’s only a matter of days.”

          Delphie straightened slowly, a tear making its way down her cheek.  “He’s too young, Barti--too young to die.  He’s only fifty-three,” she said softly.

          Barti looked at the folded sheet that had remained untouched on his desk, picked it up with one hand and held it out to her.  “I’ve not read this yet,” he said solemnly.

          She took a deep breath and accepted it reluctantly, unfolding it and reading aloud:  “Dear Delphie and Bartolo, I send my greetings and farewells to you.  It appears I must leave soon--far too soon.  What I endured out there has taken its toll of me.

          “I pray you continue to know a happy and contented life, and that you will remember me as well as you can.

                                                “Your cousin,

                                                Frodo.”

          She set it down on top of the note from Geli, then looked at the letter from Angelica Baggins Clayhanger.  She picked it up carefully, opened it methodically, and read it quietly to herself.  She finally set it down atop the others and looked up, past the desk top, ignoring the picture of a lass and her mother feeding ducklings that hung on the wall there.  “This says the same.  They’re off to Hobbiton, hoping to be able to find out what’s happening, and so--so she can bid him farewell, if there’s time.”

          Delphie turned to search her husband’s eyes.  “Why him, Barti?  He’s never wished anyone ill--not seriously so, at least, in his life!  Even when Aunt Lobelia treated him so poorly and said such awful things about him, he did no more than pay her back through harmless practical jokes, although I always felt those were more aimed at that horrible son of hers rather than at her or Otho.  Why, when Otho was ill there at the last he sent her words of encouragement and as much aid as he could--he even paid for Drolan Chubbs, who’s a far better healer than Modo Brownlock from Bywater who was the only one who’d work with them for years, to come to see to his condition and offer what he could to ease Otho there at the end; and even Lobelia admitted the letter of sympathy he sent was markedly sincere and filled with his own grief.

          “He’s never wanted anything but the best for the entire Shire!”

          Barti found himself nodding.  “Yes,” he said, his own voice rough.  “Yes, I know.”

          He slowly lifted his own hands, and the letter that lay there, written on the same golden stationery shot with green threads as that from Frodo his wife had read from slowly loosened and partially unfolded itself.  “He sent me this.”

          She looked at him, shocked.  “Frodo wrote to you--personally?”

          He nodded.

          “Why?”

          It was some time before he could bring himself to answer her.  He looked away.  “Remember when he came to Malco and Dremma’s place when we were attending their house party?  I--I made a remark to him, and he said he’d note my request in his will.  It--it appears he did so, and I’m to help carry his body at----”  He swallowed.  “At his funeral,” he finished, and finally looked back at her.

          Delphie’s face, which had paled as she’d read the letters she’d received, now began to flush.  What he might have said to Frodo was obviously going through her mind.  “You--you said you wished him dead?” she finally said accusingly.

          He shrugged and looked down at his hands, now lying again on the desktop.  “Not exactly that, but....”

          She gave a sigh of exasperation.  “Bartolo Bracegirdle!  When will you ever learn to temper your antagonism?  I don’t have any real idea why you hate him so, for I’ve never known him to ever treat you badly.  Is it from something said at that house party when you were both lads, the one at Aunt Lilac’s place?  Can’t you forgive him for what was done over thirty-five years ago?”

          He couldn’t think of a thing to answer her.

          Finally she asked, “Well, are you going to do it--serve at his funeral?”

          He gave a small shake of his head.  “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

          “Then you’d best make up your mind.  But if you don’t, you’d best note I’ll lose whatever respect I hold for you.”

          He looked into her eyes and noted she meant precisely what she’d said.  Bagginses didn’t make such statements lightly, he knew.

 *******

          They took the coach to Hobbiton.  They were directed to the Party Field, and the ponies taken by a very quiet and subdued Pando Proudfoot to an improvised paddock on the south end of it while the coach was pulled into a neat line along the hastily erected pole fence that marked one side of the paddock and along which traps, wagons, and now a few coaches were arranged neatly.

          Angelica Proudfoot was there to meet them.  “There’s no room in either the Dragon or the Ivy Bush,” she warned them.  “You’ll have to stay with us, although we have plenty of room for you and the children.”

          “It’s true, then?” Bartolo asked.

          She gave a solemn, somewhat reluctant nod.  “He died last night.  Terrified everyone, he did.  Suddenly let out with a great scream of pain--fair wailing, he was.  It went on, on and on, before the Elves came--and the Dwarf, and the Man.”

          “A Man--here in the Shire?” Barti asked, shocked as Sancho joined them.  “I thought as that King of theirs wouldn’t let any Men come in here any more?  What’s this about?”

          Sancho, whose eyes were deeply shadowed with exhaustion and grief, said, “It is the King.  He came--came to help as he could.  He helped with the attack that was killing Frodo, but Frodo was left too weak.  He died not long after.”  He pointed upwards, toward Bag End.

          A small tent had been erected up on the Hill, in a portion of the gardens there.  “The Elves had the tent with them, and what might be needed by the King.  He’s tall, and commanding.  Looked disreputable last night, he did, but you could see the Light to him--we could all see the Light to him, Frodo, and Samwise Gamgee all three.  He’s inside, now, bathing, I think, and helping see to--to the body.”

          Barti was feeling great unreality enclose him.  “I need to see Brendilac Brandybuck, or Griffo Boffin, or--or Fosco Baggins.”

          “They’re all inside Bag End, with the Thain and the Master and the Mayor--and the King.”

          The day was crisp and cool, but it appeared all of Hobbiton and Bywater and half of the rest of the Shire besides were gathered there in the Party Field.  There were a good number of Brandybucks and rather more Tooks about; the Boffins were to be seen as well as the Chubbs and Bolgers.  Odo Proudfoot sat near his great-granddaughter Cyclamen, whose face was white and whose eyes were filled with incomprehension.  “But I didn’t get to finish my story as I was telling him, Great Grandda,” she was saying as they came even with them.  “I didn’t get to finish.”

          For once the irascibility for which the old Hobbit was famous was gone.  “Sweetling,” he said solemnly, “when it’s time to go, it’s time to go.  And your cousin--he knew as it was time to go.  Didn’t have time to listen to more story’n he could snatch, not and be ready.”

          “He hurt, he hurt bad, though,” she said.  “I could hear it--worse than when Pando stepped on a nail and it went through his foot, it was.”

          “I know--your dad’s told me, lovey.  It did hurt when the seizure was on him, but then it stopped.  Pando says, when the King came, it stopped.  And he wasn’t hurtin’ none when it was time.  Just smilin’ at those as was about him, he was.”

          Odo looked up, his eyes hardening some as he looked at Bartolo.  “So you come, did you?” he asked.  “Come to gloat over him as he’s lyin’ there dead, did you?”

          Instead of feeling anger, Bartolo Bracegirdle felt shame fill him.  Instead it was Delphie who answered the old Hobbit.  “You’re a fine one to talk, Odo Proudfoot, you with your talk of how he was too good to accept the Shire’s pay for serving as deputy Mayor and all.”

          Odo flushed and muttered something, just as a blurred shape hurrying toward them from near a cluster of Tooks resolved itself into their son Persivo, who had been studying law in the Great Smial under the tutelage of old Bernigard Took, the master of the Shire’s Guild of Lawyers.

          “Mum, Dad, you came?  We’re staying in the Green Dragon, although I’m certain as--that Master Berni will let me come stay with you.  Where is that?”

          “With your Aunt Angelica and Uncle Sancho, Persivo,” Barti told him quietly.  The lad’s face was filled with surprise, then he smiled.  “I have to go up into Bag End,” Barti continued.  “Need to speak with Frodo’s Brandybuck lawyer and Griffo Boffin.”

          Persi nodded.  “I’ll give a hug to the lasses and Rikki, and I’ll go up with you.  Master Berni says as I’m to listen to what’s discussed today, and as--that it’ll be important for me to remember when I’m a lawyer writing wills myself.  He’ll come up later, he says, when he’s certain as--that it’s calmed a bit.”

          He came forward slightly and whispered just loud enough for his parents to hear, “They say as the King’s here--rode all the way from Gondor, fast as he could come, on that horse there,” and he indicated a great silver-grey animal that was grazing on the far side of the field alongside a sorrel, a bay, and a white.

          Delphie looked and gave a gasp of surprise.  “How could anyone ride one of those things?  They’re tall as mountains!” she exclaimed.

          Cyclamen nodded.  “Gandalf was here, and he had a real horse, too, just like the one they say is the King’s.  It stayed mostly here in the Party Field, it did, and we’d all come to look at it.  Wouldn’t let us come too near ’ceptin’ when he was here, too.  Then he would let us pet it, and lifted me up so I could sit on its back, once.  I’d of been scared if Gandalf hadn’t been holdin’ me.  It was so high!”

          Barti looked at the child.  So, Gandalf had been here, too?  He shook himself.  “I need to go in,” he said, finally.  He looked behind him--Begonia, Petunia, Alyssa, and Enrico were speaking with their aunt, then saw Rico Clayhanger and his wife approaching.

          “So, you’ve come, too?” Rico said.  “It was pretty dreadful for a time--a great shrieking.  Seems as if Frodo was in a right state of pain, until the one they say is the King arrived.”  He looked around him, his eyes concerned.  “What in Middle Earth the King would want to come here for, I can’t begin to imagine.”

          “For Iorhael’s sake,” said a lass who stood nearby.  “Our cousin Frodo and the King are friends.”

          There was definitely a good deal of Boffin in this one, and probably more Took.  But the expression on her face, identical to that Delphie had sported the preceding day, was all Baggins.  Although he’d never met her before, Bartolo had no trouble identifying her.  “Forsythia Baggins?” he asked.  At her nod he sighed.  “Bartolo Bracegirdle at your service, and this is my wife Delphinium of the Overhill Bagginses, and your cousin Angelica Clayhanger who is daughter to Ponto and Iris Baggins, and her husband Rico....”

          She listened to the introductions almost warily.  At last Delphie asked, “Who is Iorhael?”

          “It’s Frodo’s name in Elvish,” Barti told her.

          The lass’s eyes lit with surprise.  “How do you know that?” she asked.

          “He told me, in my meetings with him,” the lawyer told her.  “I’m one of his personal lawyers.  I represent his business outside the Shire.”

          Delphie’s eyes were wide with surprise.  “Then--then Frodo himself was your mysterious client you’ve had to go to Bree so often about?”

          Her husband nodded.

          The lass looked at him with those wise Baggins eyes of hers.  “Then that makes you Fosco’s lawyer now, I suppose.”

          A feeling of being held captive by fate took Barti, and a portion of his usual resentment felt toward Frodo Baggins returned as he realized he was, indeed, bound to serve as lawyer before the realm for a half-blind lad for the next few years, at least.  “Apparently so,”  he said stiffly.

          The lass--Forsythia Baggins--gave a nod.  “Then you’d best go and speak to him.”

          With this dismissal she turned away to the three lasses who were now approaching with their aunt and some of their lesser cousins.  Barti could almost see the spark of friendship that passed before a single word was spoken between her and his Petunia, his sensible, sensitive, beloved Pet.  He could see, all too well, that from now on the foster children of Emro and Lilac Gravelly and cousins of Frodo Baggins were going to be all too strong an influence in his home.

          He turned and almost fled up the steps to the green door of Bag End, Persivo following.

          An unknown Hobbitess opened the door before he had a chance to ring.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but the Master and Mistress aren’t receiving visitors at the moment.  There is a good deal of business to be done today.”

          “I’m to speak with Brendilac Brandybuck,” Barti explained, adding, “as directed in the last letter I received from Frodo Baggins.”

          “About?” she asked.

          “I’m--I’m to take part in the--funeral.  Frodo said he made mention of it in his will.”  He felt as if his cheeks were burning.

          “I see,” she said thoughtfully.  “Well, Mr. Brendi would know, wouldn’t he?  Well, come in and have a seat in the formal parlor, and I’ll speak with him.”

          He and Persivo were led to a room that obviously was used very rarely.  There was not a speck of dust to be seen, and a vase of white roses perfumed the air--undoubtedly among the last of the season, Barti thought.  But the mantel over the hearth was pristinely clean, the tables without a single mar, and the cushioned chairs devoutly uncomfortable.

          They weren’t kept waiting long, however.  “I’m to give you a drink of ale or wine each, and take you back to the bathing room,” she said.  “Lord Strider is--is doing what needs doing.”

          The bathing room was remarkably large for its kind.  A high worktable had been brought into it and set alongside the fixed bathing tub, and over that table leaned a Man.  Around it stood a number of Hobbits--Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, their mothers, a white-faced Narcissa Boffin, and Brendilac Brandybuck.  The fire under the boiler was lit, and scented steam rose from the tub.  And on the table----

          On the table lay the body of Frodo Baggins, quite naked.  And on that body could be seen, all too easily, a number of scars that seemed livid against the colorless skin.  Without volition Barti and Persivo both pulled back, back where it was more difficult to see.

          The Man was very gently washing the body, dipping his cloth into the steaming tub and running it gently over the cooled skin.  He was singing softly as he worked, a song of grief reaching to the stars, of promises offered, loved ones missed.

          At last he finished his labor and his song at the same time.  “Bring me a towel, please,” he murmured, and Esmeralda immediately handed him the one she’d been holding in her arms throughout.  He gently lifted the body, and at a nod a second towel was laid under it.  Once the body was dry, clothing was brought him, and very gently drawers, undervest, trousers, a shirt of silver-blue, and at last a blue garment, some kind of overshirt, clothed it.

          The door opened, and Samwise Gamgee entered carrying a bag of blue-black velvet.  “You said as you wanted this, Strider?  He’d of been most upset, you know.”

          “Oh, yes, we do know,” the Man said, and for the first time Bartolo could see his face--lean, with high cheekbones and a short, well-trimmed beard, eyes grey, dark brown hair with silver at the temples hanging to his shoulders, not curly but not completely straight, either.  An intelligent face.  A discerning face.  One capable of great sternness, and at the moment filled with a carefully controlled grief barely lit by the sad smile he shared with the gardener.  “I know he hated to have his rank made plain, but it befit him so very well, you know.”  Sam nodded, carefully opening the bag, allowing the Man to reach inside it and bring out a great silvery ring, one which he gently placed against Frodo’s curls.

          Now at last all drew back, and Frodo’s body could be seen again, now decently clothed, those horrid scars hidden, save for his right hand having been laid over the left, allowing the gap where his ring-finger was missing to be clearly seen.

          The face was quiet, a definite smile still to be seen on it, even in death.

          “His hair and the King’s,” Persivo whispered into his father’s ear, “they’re the same color.”

          And that was true, both a rich dark brown, almost black; both with temples gone silver; both with silver threads elsewhere as well.  And as the Man looked down on the Hobbit’s remains, it could be seen even their smiles were similar.  The eyes had been closed, adding by the hiding of the vivid blue Barti knew Frodo’s eyes had been to the similarity between the two faces.

          “He lost so much weight again,” the Man said quietly.  “It is almost as it was when Gandalf and the Eagles first brought the two of you out to us, how very thin he is, how light.”  He examined Sam carefully, then smiled, and as had been true of Frodo Baggins this smile lit up the room.  “Now you,” he continued, “look a proper Hobbit indeed.  How very glad he was to report that, Sam.”

          Sam nodded, smiling involuntarily.  It was clear that he’d been weeping, and that he was likely to weep again, and soon.

          “How proud he was of you, of your Rosie, of the work you’ve done--all of you, of little Elanor.  It’s been years since I rode through the Shire, but I can see how many trees were wantonly cut and how lovingly new groves have been planted.  The Lady Galadriel must be most proud of how well you used her gift to you.”

          Sam’s lip trembled, but he managed to keep his dignity as he answered, “She told me that, there when we met with those as was goin’ to sail.”  Then his reserve broke down and he reached forward, accepted being folded in the Man’s embrace.  “Oh, Strider, why wouldn’t he go with them--accept the healin’ as he was offered?  And how could we not--not suspect as what was there, in that bite?”

          The Man was clearly weeping along with the Hobbit, doing so without any hint of shame whatsoever.  “How was anyone to know, Sam?  I doubt even my adar had the slightest idea.  To find such a thing, and to realize she was--was draining him!  No wonder he was fading!  My brothers and Legolas--they were almost sick with the loathing of it when I brought it out of the wound!”

          “First Sauron’s Ring, and then that Sharkey, and then--then that--that horrid thing!”

          Merry spoke softly.  “He seemed to know, there at the end.  Told you it wanted removing.”

          The Man looked over his shoulder and nodded.  “Yes, he did.”

          Merry continued, “I’m so very glad you got it out.  Just think what--what the Shire might have become had--had that thing managed to get loose here.  But to think of him--him possibly carrying such a thing there....”

          “They’ve faced her afore in the Undying Lands,” Sam said, bringing out a handkerchief and wiping his eyes.  “I think as they’d of had her number, all right, if you take my meanin’.”

          “You’ve heard of her before, Sam?”

          “Who’d you think as killed the Trees of the Valar, Mr. Merry?”

          Merry and Pippin exchanged glances, and at last Merry said, “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Samwise, sir.  We are no better than you are, and we won’t stand being ‘Mistered’ by you--do you understand, my Lord Panthael?  You’re Master of Bag End now, and are our better in the outer realm.  I’m Merry, and he’s Pippin.  You want to ‘Mister’ my father or his, feel free.  But not us.”

          Sam looked straight back at him.  “You know as just how hard it is for me to change what I call folks, once I’ve got started.  You might just have to put up with it for the rest o’ your lives, you know.  I mean, he’ll always be Lord Strider to me, and we all know it.”

          And all found themselves inexplicably laughing in spite of their mutual grief, the Man loudest of all.  “And how much I look forward to hearing you always call me that, Master Samwise.”

          Then they were looking back at the form on the table.  “Now,” the Man sighed, grief and solemnity taking him once again, “there is the question of what is to be done.  What I had wished to do was to bring his body to the Barrow Downs, cleanse the place and see him properly buried there, the last Prince of Eriador.  Such would be more than fitting, for him to be buried in what was the royal cemetery for the realm.  But I sense such would not be seen as the honor it is by your people.”

          Esmeralda Brandybuck was shaking her head.  “No, even if you managed to chase all the wights there beyond the Sundering Sea we couldn’t let that happen, sir.  He’s a Hobbit of the Shire, and was happiest here within the Shire and nowhere else.  He even chose to die here when--when he might have gone--there and possibly been healed.  Please let his body rest here, somewhere near here or Brandy Hall, where we know he was loved.”

          “You have loved him all his life?”

          “We’ve both known and loved him all his life, Eglantine and I.  His mother was my husband’s father’s youngest sister, and her death was such a grief to us all.  And then Frodo was as our son, Sara’s and mine, and was always as older brother to our Merry, and later to Pippin as well, once he was born.  It was such a wrench to let him go to Bilbo--but Bilbo was right--we were killing him slowly with our stifling love.  Here he became so much more than we were letting him become, until....”

          “But, then, you never met Bilbo,” Eglantine Took said softly.

          The Man smiled.  “Never met Bilbo, you think?  Oh, but I did, for he was my first friend among Hobbits.  I’ll never forget the first time I saw him, there in the gardens of Imladris--I’d been playing at boar hunting, and he caught me at it.  I was only ten at the time, I think--much like a lad of fifteen, if you will.  He was very polite to me.  You see, that’s where I grew up, in protective hiding from the Enemy and his creatures.  When I came back to Rivendell as a Man grown and discovered he now resided there, I was so pleased.  He told me much of you, although I’d forgotten most of it, not having faces to tie to the stories.  But he never gave up his love for all of you, and particularly his love for his lad, his beloved boy.”  He looked back to the still form lying there.  “I’ll carry him back to his bed, if you will.”

          Merry stepped forward.  “Please, Aragorn--please let Pippin and me do it.  We’ll not be able to--to do anything for him again for so long.”

          The Man drew a deep breath, then released it, and nodded.

          And so Merry and Pippin came to the table, gently lifting the form there and carrying it out of the room between them.

          Brendi looked about the room.  “It might be best, my Lord King, if we were to return to the dining room where we can talk more easily.”

          The King nodded and turned, noting the two newcomers.  “And you are?” he asked.

          Bartolo Bracegirdle felt as if he were naked, much as had been true of Frodo’s body so shortly before.  Those eyes looked into him and saw him thoroughly, he realized.  “Bartolo Bracegirdle of Hardbottle, sir,” he said, his voice a bit strained, he was ashamed to notice.  “And this is my oldest child, my son Persivo.”

          The Man nodded.  “Yes, Master Alvric has told me of you in his reports.  He speaks highly of both of you, as did Frodo of you, Master Bracegirdle.  Always he praised your integrity.”

          Again Bartolo felt he was flushing--either flushing or going completely white--he wasn’t certain which.  “Not his tact, though,” commented Eglantine Took in a low voice.  When the Man turned to her she flushed.  “I’m sorry--sir--my Lord....”

          Esme sighed.  “It’s just that he is a Bracegirdle, and unfortunately tact isn’t the strongest attribute of Bracegirdles.”

          The King gave a wry smile.  “So I’ve been advised.  But it is a great honor to find myself meeting one renowned for his honesty and dedication.”

          Suddenly Bartolo Bracegirdle felt it, the regard of the King, the honest respect offered him.  And without realizing it he’d become the King’s man--or Hobbit, if you will.  And the long-held anger he’d felt toward Frodo Baggins for over thirty-five years let go of him unnoticed.

Laid to Rest

          The ceilings of the rooms within of Bag End were among the highest Bartolo had ever seen in a private home within the Shire, but the only two places in which the King could stand truly upright were in the dining room and the parlor, and toward the centers of those chambers.  He had to bend low in the passages, and watch his head for sconces, beams, and chandeliers.  Bilbo had kept chairs fit for Big Folk, for Gandalf had certainly visited the smial often enough; and Barti soon learned such chairs had been set in those two rooms, along with a small folding table with long legs fit for one so tall in the dining room, one Gandalf had used often when he was writing within the smial.

          The Man stooped to enter the dining room, straightened with a sigh of obvious relief, and sank into the tall chair.  Several of those already within the room had risen at his entrance, and now seated themselves anew now he did so.

          He looked around the room as those who’d attended the preparation of Frodo’s body filed in and found places to sit or stand.  At last, when all had gone quiet, he spoke.  “I greet you.  I was born Aragorn son of Arathorn, who was in his own time chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor and heir of Elendil through his older son Isildur and their descendants Valandil and Arvedui and all between and after.  Two and a half years past I became King of Gondor and Arnor and was granted marriage to the only one I had ever desired, largely through the offices of Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins, for it had been foretold that should Sauron, the Enemy of all the Free Peoples, be overthrown then and only then might I make claim for both the Winged Crown of Gondor and the Sceptre of Annúminas, making me the first King of both the southern and northern realms since my ancestor Isildur himself.  And as a result I finally knew the joy of marriage to the one woman I had ever desired, for to no lesser personage than the King of the two realms reunited would her father surrender her, to know from our marriage on a mortal's life and a mortal's ending.”

          “But I don’t see as how Hobbits of the Shire could of done anything to bring about the end of that one,” said Will Whitfoot, who was only now beginning to approach the weight he’d carried before his imprisonment by Lotho’s Big Men and Sharkey’s folk.

          “Through constancy, dedication, and a marked stubbornness and loyalty rarely seen here in the mortal lands,” Aragorn said.  “I am certain you have all heard the tales told by Bilbo Baggins of his journey long ago with thirteen Dwarves and one Wizard, and how he found a ring of invisibility.”  At the indication of assent (and in a few cases some disbelief) he continued, “I, too, have heard them, for after he left the Shire Master Bilbo went first to revisit the Lonely Mountain and his friends among Dwarves in their home, and then returned back over the passes to Rivendell, where he dwelt among the Elves of that land at the invitation of Lord Elrond until a month past, when he accompanied many of the great Elves through the Shire westward, having been granted the grace to accompany them to Elvenhome.  It was to meet with them and bid farewell to his beloved Uncle Bilbo that Frodo left Bag End and Hobbiton the day before their birthday.  During my visits to Rivendell before the final battles with the Enemy and his creatures Bilbo befriended me, and told me often the stories of his own journey and those traditional to your people, and of those he knew and loved here in his homeland.”

          “But why didn’t he come back here?” asked Griffo Boffin, whose hair was now going decidedly grey, Barti noted.

          “That Ring Bilbo found was more than It appeared; and the fact he’d found and carried It so long made it very dangerous for him to stir out of the protection offered him by the Elven lands.  Had he been found in the wilderlands, alone and unguarded, by any of the Enemy’s creatures he would have been captured and transported to Mordor, and imprisoned in the Enemy’s dungeons, then tortured until he told all he knew of It and of Imladris, Lord Elrond, myself, and of your own land and the current Ring-bearer.  And had he remained here with the Ring in his possession It would have destroyed him, and would have drawn the Enemy’s most fell servants here the quicker.”

          “Did you know what It was?” asked Paladin Took.

          “Certainly.  From my childhood I was educated--thoroughly--about Sauron, Mordor, the nature of evil and its creatures--and the Ring.  Why do you think I never agreed to touch the foul thing, sir?  Frodo offered to give It to me, you know, once he understood--or rather, believed--who I was, since my ancestor Isildur cut It from Sauron’s hand and claimed it as his own and bound those of us who have been his heirs to It, as weregild for the deaths of his brother and father.  I would not have it.”

          After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Saradoc Brandybuck asked, “Did Bilbo know, when he left It to Frodo, what that Ring was?”

          “No.  No one was certain what it was--not until the April before Frodo left the Shire.  Gandalf managed to learn the one way by which to test the Ring Bilbo left Frodo, and that test showed that this was indeed the One Ring, the one cut from Sauron’s hand.”

          Isumbard Took asked, anger and resentment clearly reflected in his voice, “Why did he let Frodo keep the thing?  Why didn’t he take It?”

          It was Sam who answered.  “You don’t understand, Mr. Isumbard, sir.  Gandalf couldn’t of took It, for he was too strong of hisself.  Those as was strong, It could take them more easy than those as was thought of as weak.  My Master--he wasn’t a warrior or a ruler or a lord of wide lands such as the Ring was made to take and control and--and turn bad.  He was just a Hobbit of the Shire, and that was about all as he wanted to be.  He wanted for the folks as he dealt with to be the best as they could be, and for all to be thoughtful of one another.  He didn’t want to be able to tell others what to do or how to do it--only to encourage others as he could.

          “Captain Boromir o’ Gondor--he was a warrior born ’n bred.  He was used to usin’ weapons, and the Ring worked easiest on him, It did.  Just afore we left the others, he tried to take It from Frodo, and Frodo had to run away from him.  Was sure as he could use It to fight Sauron and protect his land and city, not realizin’ as the Ring was workin’ on him, and as It would of just betrayed him had he got It and tried to use It hisself.  Here in Bag End Gandalf refused to touch It--said as he needed more strength, and had he got It he’d of ended up tryin’ to use It to do good, only all as anyone would try to do with It would turn to bad, for that’s what It was made to do--to betray folks, overwhelm them, turn ’em over to the Dark Lord.”

          Aragorn nodded his agreement.  “It called to each and all of us, but It ever worked most easily on those who were accustomed to wielding power, whether the power of magic or intellect or command or weapons or combinations of these.  But those who listened to Its whisperings in their hearts were ever betrayed by It, and fell in one manner or another.”

          “Did It call to you?” asked Narcissa Boffin.

          “Yes.”

          All went quiet at that.  Bartolo found himself wondering what this Man, this new King of theirs, thought of being in this small land.  He examined the face, the expression of patient grief and compassion, the intelligent eyes, the keen understanding, the hint of an underlying humor, the awareness of the fact this one was all too often alone and isolated by his very identity and office.

          The Dwarf entered, and then Merry and Pippin came in, their faces drained.  Pippin was wearing his sword, and he now stood at the door, at quiet attention, while Merry came to stand behind his father’s chair, asking quietly, “Has any decision been made as to where and how he’s to be buried?”

          Esmeralda repeated, “It’s not right he should be taken outside the Shire and buried there.”

          The others exchanged glances, and finally the Thain gave a decisive nod.  “No, we wouldn’t agree to such a proposal, and I truly doubt he would have wanted such a thing.”

          Barti found himself saying, “In the letter he sent me, he said as what he truly wished was that all be as simple and straightforward and quiet as possible, but as he didn’t think as that would happen, not with so many important folk all wanting to see things done right.”

          The King sighed.  “He was aptly named, and knew us all well enough, after all.”  He looked at those ranged around the table, those seated and those standing, ending with Samwise Gamgee.  “I’ll leave it to you, then, Sam.  Where would he have been happiest to rest?”

          Sam paused looking about the circle himself, then licked his lips.  Finally he said, “Up, on top of the Hill, there where he died, where the light of Sun and Moon and stars would shine on him most easy.”

          “Not in Buckland, there near where his parents are buried?” asked Esmeralda Brandybuck.

          But her husband was setting his hand on her shoulder.  “No, lovey, Sam’s right.  It was here he was happiest.  This was his home.”

          Slowly the rest exchanged glances, and gradually all nodded.

          The Dwarf added his own agreement.  “I was just up there with Legolas, Aragorn.  He says he can feel Frodo’s love for the place, and the love of the land and tree and shrubs for him.  I could do a proper tomb for him....”

          The Man, however, again examining the surrounding faces, shook his head.  “No, tombs are not part of the way for this people.  He would want but a grave.”

          The Thain straightened, then agreed.  “Yes, this is so.”

          “Do your people use coffins?”

          But Rosie was shaking her head.  “We’ll use coffins, but he wouldn’t of wanted such a thing,” she said.  “A shroud burial would be all as he’d of wanted.  Wouldn’t of wanted to be shut away from the feel of the soil of the Shire.”

          Again there was general agreement.

          Bartolo Bracegirdle, who’d kept aloof of approving the decisions so far, considered Sam.  “But would you feel comfortable, knowing as there was a grave atop the smial?  It’s not a proper burying ground, after all.”

          Sam’s eyes met those of the lawyer steadily.  “What’s to fear, havin’ his grave there?  What little as might linger there would wish but the best for those as live in the smials of the Hill, and Bag End in especial.”

          The King again indicated his own agreement.  “So it is,” he said quietly.  “And as Frodo was a special one, to lay him in a common place does not have a proper feel to it--not for him.  Nor would evil find itself able to corrupt such a placement as is proposed, not with the strong bond of love between him and this place, and those who live here.”

          Griffo Boffin commented, “There isn’t room up there for all of the village to observe the burial, though; and although Frodo hasn’t been all that active in village life since his return, still all have been touched by his concern and generosity.  They’ll want to be able to pay their respects--at least to view the body.  However, to have them all parade through Bag End wouldn’t be practical or particularly restful for Rosie and Sam and their guests.”

          “Yes, Mr. Griffo, sir,” Sam agreed, “you have the right of it.”

          Merry suggested, “Could we raise a pavilion there in the Party Field, there near the mallorn, and have his body lie there on a bier until the burial?  Then all could see and offer respects, and at least most would feel the proprieties were being met.”

          Griffo looked at Merry thoughtfully.  “The pavilion used by the folk of the Dragon at the Free Fair would do, don’t you think?”

          A general lightening of the mood could be noted in the company as this suggestion met general approval.  Griffo indicated he’d go over and see to its acquisition and placement, and set off immediately with a party of others.

          Within an hour tent poles were going up, and under Gimli’s direction all was soon ready as carefully measured blocks were set up to receive a bier.  Meanwhile the proposed bier was being constructed by the King and his Elven brothers using materials Sam had available.

*******

          Those gathered in the Party Field watched matters go forward, and all went quiet as the door to Bag End opened and a party of Hobbits, preceded by Meriadoc Brandybuck in his Rohirric livery and Gimli son of Gloin carrying a torch, carried the bier solemnly down the steps to the pavilion, followed by Mayor, Master, and Thain, each with his wife, Samwise Gamgee and his family, then the rest of those who’d been within Bag End that day.  Many found their attention caught by the two young Hobbits who followed Sam with Griffo and Daisy Boffin, for the resemblance of the lad to Frodo Baggins was quite pronounced.

          The bier was carried by Brendilac Brandybuck, Folco Boffin, Fredegar Bolger, and Bartolo Bracegirdle, that last causing widespread comment amongst those watching, for Bartolo’s dislike for Frodo Baggins was generally recognized.  It was noted that the Thain carried Yellowskin, the record book for the Tooks; that the Master carried the Sword, an heirloom of the Brandybucks said to have been given to Bucca of the Marish by the son of Arvedui Last-king that was traditionally carried and displayed at Brandybuck weddings, funerals, and other ceremonials; and the lad who so resembled Frodo carried the blue-bound volume that was the family Book for the Bagginses.

          Behind the line of mourners walked Captain Peregrin Took in full mail and livery, his helmet on his head, his sword unsheathed and carried across his arm, as he walked before four exceptionally tall figures.  All eyes found themselves drawn to the one who followed immediately behind Pippin, for he was plainly a Man, and a majestic one at that, clad in black trousers, an embroidered shirt of a rich wine color with a green gem at its neck, black boots, and a silver fillet set with a single white gem about his brow, a grey-green cloak about his shoulders, a long sword in a rich black sheath hanging at his side.  There could be no doubt this was the King all had heard tell of.  Behind him walked three Elves, the one in the center with hair of shining gold, and the other two with dark hair and eyes of grey, all three of whom wore elaborately wrought silver circlets about their brows.

          All watched as the bier was borne under the roof of the open-sided pavilion and set on the waiting blocks.  When those who had carried it stepped away to join the other mourners, Merry, who’d taken a place at the foot of the bier opposite the Dwarf at its head, unsheathed his sword and took a step forward to face those gathered.

          “Hear, all present; here is come our Lord King, Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar, Lord of Arnor and Gondor, High King of the Western lands, descended from Elendil the Tall of Númenor, Isildur, Valandil, and all subsequent Kings of Arnor and Arthedain to Arvedui Last-king; descended also through Ondoher from Meneldil and Anárion of Gondor.  Let all give him reverence.”

          At that, Merry grounded the tip of his sword and went down on one knee, extending his hands, joined on the sword’s pommel, toward the King as he bowed his head; and the Master followed suit.  Led by Paladin and Eglantine Took, the others in the party bowed or curtseyed deeply, save for the Elves, who yet inclined their heads in respect.  Uncertain, those gathered as witnesses found themselves doing likewise.

          The Man stood tall and straight, his face solemn.  After a moment he spoke, his voice carrying clearly to the furthest reaches of the field.   “In light of the horrors perpetrated on your land and people during what you know as the Time of Troubles, I had laid a temporary ban against Men entering or passing through the Shire, including my own folk.  In normal circumstances I would not think to break that ban myself, but I was summoned into the Shire to be by the side of one I have loved deeply and who was beloved and honored by all lands and races who have stood against the tyranny of Mordor--Frodo Baggins, the Lord Iorhael of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, Cormacolindor, Cyllgor, the Ring-bearer, Bronwë athan Harthad, Iorhael na i·lebid.

          “Few here within the Shire appreciate what Frodo did to safeguard all of Middle Earth.  He left your land to carry out of it a token of greatest evil, uncertain if he would ever be able to return.  He accepted the commission to see that token destroyed, although to do so he was forced to travel to the devastation of Mordor.  He was most grievously wounded several times, and was almost lost to us more than once.  He and Samwise Gamgee accomplished their goal and that token was destroyed, this time nearly at the expense of the lives of both.  Had they not done so, all of Middle Earth would now lie under the shadow of Mordor, and if I were not slain I would be even now in the dungeons of Barad-dûr, suffering the most inventive tortures to be devised by the Dark Lord himself.

          “The Ring was destroyed, but not without cost; and Frodo Baggins returned to the Shire yet wounded in body and spirit.  In the last several months his health has failed him, although he sought to hide that fact from all.  Once it was made known to me that his time was upon him, I left my duties as King and the company of my beloved wife to hurry here, although I’d not fully thought what I should do, as I had no intention to break the ban I myself laid on those of my own race.

          “However, it was made plain to me that the Creator and Valar did not wish for Frodo to leave this life without the comfort of my presence at the last, and so I entered here as one of the Sons of Elrond, for so I was raised to think of myself, having been fostered in Rivendell since the death of my father until I came of age and was finally returned to the Dúnedain to take up my proper role as their Chieftain and prepare for the day when the Enemy might be brought down.  And it proved to the good of all that I did so, for in seeking to relieve Frodo of one last burden, I managed to avert one final great evil intended to lay waste once again to this land.  So it was that, with that last pain relieved, Frodo was able to pass from this life in great peace, reassured that the continued happiness and contentment of the land he so loved would not be disturbed.

          “For he did love this land more than you can know.  I had hoped perhaps he might remain by me in Minas Tirith that I might comfort him when illness sought to reduce him, but he would not stay.  The folk of Rivendell wished him to remain with them when he broke his return journey there, and that he might live there alongside Bilbo to the comfort of both and that full honor for what he’d done might ever be shown him, but he came away from there.  He was granted the greatest honor that the Valar might show him, and was told he might take ship with those among the Great Elves who in these latter days would leave these shores to travel to Tol Eressëa to finish his days surrounded by the great beauty of the Lonely Isle and the company of those among Elves and Maiar who most appreciated what precisely he accomplished and what it cost him, but he chose not to accept that great gift, for he would not leave the land that bore him.

          “I served as his guide during his journey from Bree to Rivendell, and as one of his companions and guards as we went south and east together, until, reminded of the corrupting nature of what he carried, he broke from the rest of our company to spare us the temptation to fall he’d already realized was working amongst us.  I was one of those who labored over him to effect his recovery when his task was accomplished and he and Sam were found at the edge of destruction and were rescued and restored to us, both so close to passing through the Gates of Death.  He took part in the ceremonies that reestablished the Kingship of Gondor and Arnor, and stood by me as I took the hand of my beloved Arwen, now at last my most treasured wife.  I closed the wound after his finger and the evil that enclosed it were taken from him, and comforted him often when he knew night terrors and pain and the frustration of a body already less than what he’d known before he accepted the quest for Mount Doom.  And at the end I probed the final wound that would not heal and was able to remove the seed of further great evil that had lain there hidden for two and a half years before I saw him leave us at last.

          “You have known him as the son of Drogo and Primula Baggins, the ward of the Master of Buckland and his son, the young Master and then full Master of Bag End, the adopted heir of old Mad Baggins, the eccentric but caring family head to the Bagginses, the one who inexplicably sold the home of his heart to Lotho Sackville-Baggins, the one who led those who entered Lotho’s Lockholes to release and restore those imprisoned there, the deputy Mayor who restored the integrity of the law of the Shire, and at the end the reclusive soul who inexplicably was fading away as you watched.  For me--he has become the shining example of courage and endurance beyond hope as he is now named by the greatest of the Elves, and I see him as one of the brothers I had ever wanted but who were never born to stand at my side.

          “He will be laid to rest atop the Hill, above the home he loved, his grave overlooking the Shire he loved so deeply that he refused to leave it a second time, no matter how deeply he needed healing.  There is not room for all to come to see, and so we ask that those who wish to offer your final respects do so now, for we will lay him to rest shortly after tomorrow’s dawn.”

          With that he stepped aside, and Saradoc Brandybuck rose.  “He was my much younger cousin, still a child when I married, my beloved Aunt Primula’s son.  It was decided Esme and I should foster him when his parents died, and I rejoice that was done; but in spite of the great love we held for him we could not give him all he needed, and withheld the freedom to express himself and to offer service to others he had the great need to offer.  When Bilbo at last was moved to demand to exercise his right and authority as Baggins family head to foster him as a fellow Baggins we didn’t wish to let him go, although I'm glad we did.  Here in Hobbiton he knew the freedom to try all things he might try, and he was encouraged to help any and all others as he saw needed it in whatever manner he could, and within a few short months he was blooming fully.  Until the day that great sense of responsibility he ever held inside himself led him to leave the Shire to protect it as he saw was needful we never regretted the fact Bilbo had overruled us.

          “Now I will see the burial of one I loved as if he were my first son, and my heart is torn, for a parent ought not to have to take part in the funeral of so well beloved a child; but I rejoice he died in peace at the end, and even in the throes of great joy, for there was apparently granted him a vision of great delight, and even now the traces of that joy hang about his face.  He may have been the Rascal of Buckland and Master of Bag End and the Ring-bearer, but he has ever been one of the lights of joy in my heart, and I’m glad I was granted the chance to cherish him while he remained with us.”

          The Thain now stepped forward.  “When my son disappeared with Frodo, Merry, and Samwise Gamgee I was terrified.  Through it all Eglantine and I harbored many fears, and far too vivid imaginings of the horrors that might be facing the four of them, and particularly our son.  When they returned we tried desperately to put those imaginings from us by further imagining now they’d not truly faced any great dangers, and Frodo came to us and sought to make us see how foolish we were, and how we were in danger of losing our son by the very act of denying what he’d endured and accomplished.”  His face twisted with grief and the irony of it.  “And this from the very one who sought to keep his own part in the whole affair most private, fearing to frighten us with the knowledge of how very close the entire length and breadth of Middle Earth came to falling once again under the Shadow.”

          He took a great breath.  “We have now heard the truth of all that endangered us, and what the four of them did in the company of this individual who is now our King, and what further they each did while they were separated from the others.  Each was a hero, along with countless other heroes throughout the battles being waged on all sides against the Shadow’s forces.  And even here we had heroes in those who stood up to Lotho and the Big Men, and later Sharkey, for ours has proved to be the final battle of that war that ravaged the whole of Middle Earth.

          “And they came back to us, our lost four, and helped, each as he could best do, to restore the peace and integrity of our land.  And I thank you, our Lord King Aragorn Elessar, for helping each to survive and for sending them back to us ready to each show the strengths he had to face what had been done here and to lead in the restoration of our integrity.

          “As for Frodo’s part in that battle--it is true he didn’t strike a blow--not with his sword; but to keep us from learning bitterness, to restore and strengthen the integrity of our body of law, to see to it justice is tempered with mercy and understanding, and to do what he has so quietly done to see individuals here and there given the chance to reach their full potential, much as he’s always done--Frodo has done far more than most dream to restore the beauty and peace of the Shire.  I rejoice to honor him this day, although I grieve----”

          The tears that had been threatening finally broke loose.  He took out a handkerchief and held it bunched to his eyes until he at last could speak again, at which time he blew his nose and restored it to his pocket.

          “I grieve to have lost him, particularly when I only now begin to fully understand just how truly marvelous he was.”

          He stood quiet for a moment, then added, “I have been given to understand just how deeply each of these four, and especially Frodo, have come to be loved and respected outside the Shire, and so I’ve sent my folk on fast ponies to the Brandywine, the borders on the western marches, and the Sarn Ford with orders any Men in the cloaks of the Dúnedain of Eriador or the black and silver of Gondor and those who might accompany them are to be admitted and escorted here with all speed and honor that they might also pay their respects.  I had no idea at all just how far Frodo’s influence reached until now, and I will not deny any who came to love him the right to bid him farewell.”

          At that he stepped back, and the King laid his hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him.

          Barti had rejoined Delphie once he’d seen his current part in the ceremonies surrounding Frodo’s death served, and she immediately placed her arms about his waist.  Persi, who’d come down earlier to Number Five to let those there know what had happened, stood on the other side of his mother, and smiled his pride at his father.  Rikki moved to press himself against Barti’s side, and looked up, a surprisingly mature smile on his face, while Pet and Gonya with Alyssa moved forward on either side of the family.

          “I never dreamed,” Gonya said with surprising solemnity, “just how important what Cousin Frodo Baggins did out there was.”

          “How were we to know?” her mother answered quietly.

*******

          Near nightfall a party of Dwarves appeared from the west and joined the lines of those who entered the pavilion, many of them laying small crystals or tiny objects carved of stone by the body on its bier.  A few hours later a party of Men and Elves reached them from the Brandywine Bridge, and they too passed by the bier, all of them going to one knee or bowing deeply to show their respect.  Single blossoms and sprays of leaves or evergreens were laid around the bier.  Merry had taken the duty of bearing the torch from Gimli at sunset, and now one in the grey cloak of a Ranger of the North took it from Merry as midnight approached.

          The residents of Hobbiton and Bywater brought tables and benches, and each contributed dishes to offer refreshment to those who came from much further afield, and the butcher who’d received the great bullock and poultry sent from the Tooklands brought out the resulting meats and helped to see them prepared.  Those who had free access to the Grange Hall and the kitchens of the Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon brought plates, cups, and flatware, and both inns donated barrels of ale and casks of wine and cider.

          Barti and Delphie at last followed Geli and Sancho back into Number Five and sank gratefully down to sit together on the narrow sofa that sat on one side of the room.  Angelica looked at her daughter, who reached up to be taken into her lap.  “He looks so peaceful,” she said softly, “and as if he were happy.”

          Barti nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

          “Where did the blue garment he wore come from?” asked Sancho.  “Did they tell you that?”

          Barti nodded.  “The King’s wife made it for Frodo, and embroidered it for him with an eight-pointed star in blue and silver--it’s one of the signs of the lords of the King’s folks, both here in Arnor and south in Gondor.  Merry Brandybuck said he’d worn it both at the King’s coronation and at his wedding.”

          “It was beautiful upon him,” Geli said.

          “What about that circle thing he wore?” asked Pando.  “What’s that?”

          Persi answered.  “Master Samwise explained it to me--it’s a circlet of honor.  When they first awoke, almost recovered, after--after Mordor was defeated, they were brought out before the armies that had fought before the Black Gates, and they were named Lords of all the Free Peoples of the West for what they accomplished.  The Dwarf who stood there with the torch made circlets for each of them as tokens of that great honor.  They’ve never shown them to anyone here.  Sam said Frodo tried to leave his behind in Gondor, even, but Gandalf wouldn’t let him.”

          “Why isn’t Gandalf here now?” asked Delphie.

          “He was here--he left a few days ago,” Angelica said.  “He was to sail with the Elves who left Middle Earth--and with Frodo, but Frodo refused to leave the Shire.”

          Bartolo sighed and rubbed at his chin.  Finally he looked up to meet Sancho’s eyes.  “You were up there?”

          “They sent the two bairns down here--Sam and Rosie’s daughter Elanor and Budgie and Viola Smallfoot’s son Drogo.  So Pando and I went up to see to what we might be able to do.  Pando waited outside Frodo’s room to run errands, and I went in to see as the kitchen was clean and tea was kept brewed and to fetch ale or wine or whatever.  It was little enough as we could do.”

          “What was the wailing they tell about?”

          Sancho shivered.  “Frodo tended to suffer from bad memories of the--of the worst bits, and on the anniversaries of the worst woundings he’d almost relive them in his mind, from what we’re now told.  They’ve been worse and worse each time, apparently.  This time, with his heart failing him anyway, he was in a good deal of pain as well.  And when the memories hit--he cried out.  It was awful, not being able to ease it.  Sam was so shaken!  We all were.”

          “But that was over, and he was actually happy when he died?” Delphie asked.

          “Yes.”

          Barti asked, “What about this last great evil the King spoke of?”

          “I don’t quite understand, but he pulled a spider out of Frodo’s neck.”

          “A spider?!”

          Sancho nodded.  “Then he threw it in the fire--and----”  He shook his head, unable to retell the horror of seeing the shape that had risen.  “All of them,” he continued at last, “the King and the Elves, said as it was truly wicked and would have done a great deal of damage to the Shire if it had gotten out after Frodo was dead.  Once it was gone he was at ease, and glad for the King to be there.  He spoke a bit, but not much.”  He straightened as he tousled Pando’s hair.  “We’d best get to bed--the dawn will come too early.”

*******

          Before dawn Sancho knocked on the door to the room given Bartolo and Delphinium, and Barti rose and swiftly dressed in the good clothes Delphie had brought for him.  She kissed him after seeing to it his collar was straight, and at last they went out to take a light first breakfast with the Proudfoots and to go out into the field.

          Merry and Pippin, both in full uniform, stood nearby, their arms about one another in comfort; while Narcissa Boffin and her cousin Folco stood near the bier, Folco’s arm around Narcissa’s shoulder.  Bard Took was much the same with his wife Pearl, who once had been thought likely to become Mistress of Bag End one day, their children quietly standing before them as they waited alongside Ferdibrand Took and Pimpernel and Pearl and Pimmie’s sister Pervinca and their families.

          The number of children who’d come out this morning was surprising, in fact, and many stood together with Pando and the Chubbs lads, softly asking questions and listening intently to the answers.

          A Man in black and silver livery similar to Pippin Took’s now held the torch, and a number of Dwarves came with Gimli from an open camp they’d made themselves at the far end of the Party Field.  At the same time a number of Elves emerged from the woods at the far side of the Hill and followed Legolas onto the field where he advanced to speak to Gimli, and then the two of them went to join those who gathered close to the pavilion.

          Barti gave his wife a last squeeze and also pulled away to go to the pavilion.  Two of the Elves had lifted Frodo’s body while two others laid a length of fine cloth over the bier, then gently settled it once more, seeing to it the mithril circlet was properly in place.  Then the loose end of the cloth was brought up over the chest like a coverlet and folded back, revealing only the peaceful face with its soft smile.  Barti looked at it, surprised to no longer feel the anger and envy he’d once known.

          Then it was time, as the King and the remaining family descended from Bag End.  Once more Bartolo Bracegirdle set his shoulder under the bier and lifted it as the Dwarves began to play upon drums and tambours and viols, and as Elves played upon harps and sweet bells, and a song of mourning and hope was raised.

          The slow walk up the steps to Bag End seemed like a dream, as did that down the path through the gardens and on either side of the blue stone steps at the back, much too narrow for this procession.  A grave had been dug atop the hill, away from the trunk of the young oak that now served as roof tree, and two more blocks lay there to receive the bier.  Barti found himself almost reluctant to let go, but he did so and stepped aside, watched as between them the King and Samwise Gamgee, now dressed in a golden overshirt embroidered with a great tree, a shining belt of some silvery metal set with innumerable crystals from which a fine sword’s sheath hung about his waist, together brought the folded material up over the head, then brought up the last length of cloth at the head end of the bier down over the front, carefully tying the ties set here and there to keep the cloth from coming loose.

          At last lengths of rope were set under the body, and Barti came forward to take the end to allow him to do his part in lowering the now shrouded body down into the grave.  He felt the tension slacken as the body at last rested on the bottom, and he gratefully let go his end so Folco could pull it free on his side, coiling it loosely as he gathered it all into his hands.

          The song raised from the Party Field at last was finished, and the King stepped forward to stand with one hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking down into that lonely yet peaceful grave.  “Rest well, small brother,” the Man murmured, and as those present came forward to each cast in their handful of earth, he began to sing one last hymn of praise to the Lord Iorhael.  And for the second time the folk of the Shire heard the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers raised in their land....

Epilogue

          “I do not believe you will regret the choice,” Lord Celeborn said quietly as they watched the ship being pulled into its docking.

          “Won’t be the same for me, though,” the elderly Hobbit responded, “without my Master here.  He was to of been here, awaitin’ for me, you know.”  He went almost quiet; the Elf lord could hear the sad, whispered chant of “Oh, my Frodo!” that the gardener had been repeating almost the whole time he’d stood on the deck, waiting to step foot on the shores of Tol Eressëa.

          “It does not do to dwell on might-have-beens, small Lord.  You will find healing for your heart here, I believe,” the Elf assured him.  “I know that to be reunited with my beloved Galadriel will do so for me.”

          Sam nodded thoughtfully.  Suddenly he paused, his attention caught.  The form they saw ought not to have been familiar, so changed was it; but there could be no mistaking of that Light of Being.  Both Hobbit and Elf found themselves responding to the sight, straightening at the recognition, suddenly eager to be off the ship and greeting that one....

          “Oh, Gandalf!  Dear Gandalf!” Sam cried as the crowds of Elves parted enough to finally allow him to come to the erstwhile Wizard.  He threw himself at the Maia, embracing him as Gandalf knelt to wrap his own shining arms about the Hobbit.  “It’s been so long!”

          “Welcome, Samwise Gamgee,” he heard murmured in his ear.  “Oh, how eagerly you’ve been awaited!” 

          Sam looked up into a visage that was not what he remembered, yet indisputably was indeed his friend.  “You’re not as you was,” he said, his voice filled with wonder, “no, not as you was--you’re more!”

          He heard and felt the familiar laughter that had sent them all into gales of joy and merriment after the awakening in Ithilien, the comfort of the mere presence that had reassured them through times of trial and apparent darkness.  “Ah, my dearest of gardeners, that is to be expected, is it not?” the Maia finally asked, his gaze indicating the fount of delight held within his new form as it had filled that of the White Wizard.  “Are you not also more than you were when I saw you last?  Husband, father, counselor to the King as well as beloved brother of his heart, Mayor to the Shire how many times?  And now grandfather and great-grandfather as well.”

          “And widower, as well as one bereft of the other brother of my heart this many years,” Sam said solemnly.

          “I understand.  Grief, however, has ever been as much a part of life as is joy.  But you are granted a time of peace here, Panthael, to know healing for the griefs endured, ere you leave the Bounds of Arda at the last.  Know this, there is nothing that has been given up in love and hope that will not be fulfilled in the end.”

          “He wished me to come, he did, as did my Rosie.”

          “They were both wise ones indeed, Sam.”

          A greater glow was advancing toward them, and Sam looked up into another familiar visage, one whose great and overwhelming beauty he’d again been unable to hold complete in his mind, although the face of the Lady Galadriel was even more fair than it had been before as she smiled down at him--the wearing left by the battle of the long defeat she’s spoken of as she and Frodo had talked over the basin of her Mirror had been cleansed away; many griefs had been eased, and much of sheer delight had been restored to her.  She was renewed and refreshed, and her smile promised a joyous surprise.

          “Vanimelda?”

          At the unexpected greeting she looked up, and her Light of Being flared brilliantly as she realized her beloved husband had arrived on this ship, so much so that Sam was certain that he would never have been able to bear it had they been within the Mortal Lands.  But there were other reunions to be fulfilled, as Elrond worked his own way through the shining throng still engaged in greeting one another over almost the entire surface of the white stone quay.  Sam felt the additional relief Lord Celeborn knew as he greeted the former Lord of Imladris and saw that here, too, there was fulfillment and renewal--and then the third came, following in the wake of her husband, who’d gone first as much to make the way easier for her as to come to Celeborn’s side himself.

          He who had been advisor to Celebrimbor and Amroth before taking over the lordship of the Golden Woods went at first very still with the shock of it, the realization he’d almost forgotten that this reunion was likely this day, as he saw, after a separation of over five hundred years, his daughter for the first time since she was brought aboard her own grey ship.  “Celebrían?  My little Celebrían?  Sell nín?”

          The Light of Being for each flared with exceptional brightness, as did that of the Lady Galadriel and that of Elrond as well, as each heard the songs and prayers of praise and thanksgiving that rose to Celeborn’s lips, and as he enfolded the daughter so long lost to him in his grasp.

          Sam looked up to see the pleasure and delight in this scene further reflected in the eyes of the Maia who stood by him, realizing he, too, felt glad for this easing granted the Elf who’d been Sam’s traveling companion since they’d met on the Birthday, as did those other Elves who’d accompanied them who were able to take a moment from their own reunions to watch the special one granted the honored Lord Celeborn.  Gandalf looked away briefly to give the Hobbit a special smile, then offered his own blessing toward these he’d come to love and honor so over the many years he’d spent in the Mortal lands. 

          At last he looked back at Sam.  Shall we leave them to it? Sam heard uttered in his heart.

          Not trusting himself to speak, the Hobbit nodded, and the Maia spoke briefly to those Elves who had overseen the health of the gardener during the long journey they’d shared and accepted Sam’s sparse luggage, and he led Sam off the pier, turning north rather than westward up into the great city.

          “Then--then I’m not to live--up there?” Sam asked.  “Not as I’d mind too terrible much, I suppose--after all, I’ve lived on the heights when we’ve visited with Aragorn in Gondor, as you know.”

          Gandalf laughed.  “When we arrived we learned a house for Bilbo had been prepared for him indeed within the city, but I objected.  Yes, he could have brought himself to bear it, but it would have been most unnatural for him after all; so instead a small--by Elven standards, that is--a small summerhouse on the edge of the Gardens was given over to his usage, a place where individuals have gone over the long yeni for periods of peace and contemplation surrounded by the beauty of flowers and shrubs and trees.  And he was granted a companion to ease his possible feelings of isolation, one sent here unexpectedly to find his own healing.  Bilbo did a most creditable job of helping his companion along before the day came he felt it time to offer back his life and accept the Gift, which he did with utmost ease, delight, and I must admit a certain amount of smugness.”

          Sam found himself laughing freely at the idea.  “Dear old Master Bilbo,” he said, shaking his head in admiration.  “So this companion as he’d been given had found his healin’ with the help of the old fellow, did he?”

          “Indeed.”  Again the gardener could see the satisfaction the Maia was taking no pains to hide.  After a moment the taller being continued, “To further confirm the comfort of Bilbo permission was granted to build a hill of sorts over the summerhouse, an enterprise that has caused a good deal of amusement amongst the Elves who live in the city, and in which many shared.  Since the old fellow left, there have been those who’ve nevertheless continued in the maintenance and upkeep of the place.  Not truly a smial, mind you, but sufficiently similar to give many an idea of how Hobbits live in their own lands; and others have seen to the continuing comfort of his companion, who has remained in the place, grateful for the memories of comfort and healing granted him there.  I hope you don’t mind having such a companion, but he is quite keen to assist you in finding your own easing as Bilbo aided him in finding his.”

          The hints of annoyance Sam had begun to know at realizing he wasn’t to be granted privacy faded as he looked into the face of his companion, for it was very plain Gandalf was himself feeling a good deal of smugness at the situation.  “And is this a part, perhaps, of his own continued healin’ as well?” he asked.

          Gandalf nodded, delight almost oozing out of every pore.  “Indeed, my so well beloved Lord Panthael.  Ah, so well and properly did Gimli and Aragorn call you this, you know.  He would have accompanied me to the quay, but I suggested he remain there and see to the preparation of the house--although if I know him he’ll be up atop the hill we built delighting in the day, having seen to the preparation of the place as soon as word was granted us you indeed had taken ship.”

          As they passed the outer bounds of the city, Sam could hear singing from the scattered homes and individuals they passed.  The song was familiar, although he’d not heard it sung for some years; and this portion being sung now was one he’d heard only three times, perhaps, in all the years of association he’d known with Elves.  He listened carefully.  “This is beyond the Lay of Beren and Lúthien,” he said softly.  “The full Lay of Leithian it is, isn’t it Gandalf?”

          The Maia’s Light flared in his added gratification.  “Yes, so it is.”

          Sam nodded, smiling softly as they walked, listening and translating to himself as he went.  The song was growing louder and more full the further they went.  At last he commented, “Beren One-hand, he become, and the two of them knew so much o’ pain and grief, until it was all over.  And then----”  He stopped, looking up at the Maia thoughtfully.  “Is it true, Gandalf, as they was granted life here, in our world, and time to know one another in peace as Man and Wife, afore they went on outside the Bounds of Arda?”

          Gandalf’s joy had become more solemn.  “Oh, indeed they did.  I often attended upon them in those years they knew together, and rejoiced to see them indeed shed the memories of pain and grief, accepting joy and delight in their place.”

          “Then--then you wasn’t the only one ever as was sent back.”

          Gandalf threw back his head and laughed in sheer delight.  “Indeed not!” he finally managed.  “Nay, I am not unique in that--not at all, my sweet and delightful Samwise Gamgee!  Now and then the Creator has expressed the desire to see some returned within the Bounds of Arda that their Lights be fulfilled ere they go further, you must realize.  But come--we’ve not so very far to go now.”

          As hills go, this one was rather small, but well shaped and comforting indeed, although the doors and windows remained mostly straight, but with a distinct arch to each--a nice compromise, Sam thought.  He looked at the flowers that encircled the place and smiled in joy.  “Elanor and niphredil--but so large and even more beautiful than what we knew there!” he noted with pleasure.  The Maia nodded, and the song, now approaching its ending at the last, grew louder.  There were so many Elves here, singing the Lay.

          Toward the top there was a glow as if whoever waited up there indeed was one who knew a delight of anticipation.  “A great one among the Elves?” asked Sam.

          Gandalf only shrugged as he led Sam to the blue stone steps that led the way to the top, and stepped back to let the Hobbit go first.

          He saw first an Elf maiden of great beauty, her own Light of Being flaring to see him approach, looking up from her watch on the one who lay resting before her.  Unlike the others, she was not singing, although there was an aching pleasure on her face as she rose from where she’d been seated to approach him.  “He fell asleep again, Olórin,” she advised the Maia.  “He looks so peaceful.”

          “Samwise Gamgee, may I present the Lady Livwen.  She was but a child when Bilbo arrived, and has done much over the years to see to it that the residents of this place know the fullness of comfort.  Livwen, may I present the last of the Ring-bearers, Master Samwise Gamgee, the Lord Panthael of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and beloved and blessed guest for what time he chooses to spend among us.”

          Sam felt himself flushing once more, feeling a great delight in the unique beauty of this elleth, smiling to realize just how much she reminded him of both his Rosie and his Elanor.  “At your service, lady,” he murmured with a profound bow--one he realized he could not have performed before he left the Shire.  Had that much healing and renewal been granted him already?

          She gave a deep and most graceful curtsey in return.  “It is a great honor to meet you at the last.  So much has been told of you and your exploits, and the love you ever showed to your masters and the Lord Elessar and your gardens.”

          Sam looked about himself, for the hilltop was covered with flowers and flowering shrubs; and about its crown was a circle of----

          “Athelas?” he asked, his own Light flaring the stronger at the sight of the familiar plant, but much greater, and with far more colors to its blossoms than the plants he’d always known.

          “Yes, Sam, athelas.  The plants were gifts to the Lords of Númenor, you must realize; and Elendil, Isildur, Anárion, and the princes that accompanied them back to Middle Earth took pots in which they grew as well as seeds and covered roots with them, as well as the White Tree they carried--and a few other herbs besides.”

          “They’re so much more beautiful here,” he breathed, “here as where they was meant to grow.”

          “Indeed, Panthael--the flower is always brightest in the land where it is intended to bloom.”

          And at last Sam looked down at the form that lay sleeping in the midst of the circle, fragrant with healing, noted the hair was long and silver and shining.  Whoever he was, he was covered over with a mantle woven of what appeared to be threads of Light and Color itself.  He lay on his right side, his face turned away toward the West, the shining right hand lying palm up, barely to be seen beyond the edge of the equally shining fabric.

          “The mantle was gifted to him,” the Maia murmured in his ear, “a few years back by one who passed this way, pausing on his own journey from the Houses of Healing in Minas Anor to the Uttermost West to leave this.  It is woven of threads of memories he was gifted.”

          Sam looked up at the face of Gandalf, saw the patience and amusement and Joy that filled it, then looked back at the sleeping figure, saw that it was surrounded by a silvery Light of Being of a far different quality than that he’d seen about any of the Elves encountered that day, certainly different from the Light the Maia bore.  That Light pulsed regularly and strongly with the heartbeat and breathing of the one who lay there--indeed he seemed almost totally a Being of Light himself.

          Then the attention of the gardener was drawn back to that hand, almost hidden, the gap to be seen there where a finger was missing----

          “Master!” Sam cried out in a paroxysm of joy and wonder, and he leapt over the border of great flowers to kneel by the side of one he’d not thought to see again this side of death.

          Frodo Baggins, the shining Lord Iorhael of the Nine Fingers, sat up, brushing the long and shining curls back from his face, his eyes going swiftly from sleep-filled to wakeful and filled with his own Joy.  Sam--you are come at last!  Oh, my so beloved Samwise Gamgee!

          “But you’re here!” Sam murmured in wonder as he held the long missed form once again in his arms.

          Of course, Sam.  Oh, I was so foolish not to have sailed.  I was so foolish so many times and over so many things.  I was sent back, Sam, sent back to have my Light polished and brought to fullness again, and to await you.

          “But you were afraid of losin’ yourself,” Sam said, pulling back so he could look into those shining eyes.

          Frodo laughed loud and long, and the mithril peals of it filled Sam with an even deeper Joy.  Ah, yes--my foolish fears.  But how was I, simple, vain Hobbit as I was, to appreciate that it is only in giving ourselves up that we can find ourselves truly, Sam?  How was I to know--then--that I wasn’t becoming less myself but more?  You were ever the wiser of the two of us, Samwise Gamgee.

          And as Sam again held his beloved friend and former master close to him, he heard Frodo murmur in his ears,

          “Oh, my Sam!”

Author’s Notes

          Inspiration can come in many different ways.  Sometimes I’ll have a particular title running through my head, and I find myself writing a story to fit it.  A couple of my stories have been inspired by dreams I’ve had, and others by particular images that perhaps I’ve seen in a film, a painting or photograph, or walking down the street; while several have been the product of my mind chewing on a chance comment made or heard during a conversation and finding the associations evoked applying themselves to our beloved characters and world.  Then several have come about to answer questions set by those who’ve reviewed my previous works.  Several were either inspired or strongly affected by new information I’ve gleaned from one source or another, or a detail from someone else’s book or story I’ve read.  Certainly I’ve incorporated information gleaned from documentaries, books, personal experiences, and interviews either heard or read into my stories as well as details that were merely the product of my own imagination.  And in so doing I’ve tried to maintain in my writing the same feeling of both plausible reality and imaginative fantasy found in the original story that has so sparked our own imaginations.

          This particular story was sparked by two images I found myself considering one day--one of Aragorn scooping up Frodo while Frodo was wrapped in a blanket and hurrying off with him; another of Sam, seated on the ground, a dying Frodo held in his arms, much like Sam on the mountainside speaking of strawberries and cream, but this time in a living land, and Frodo seeking to reassure Sam, not speaking in the despair engendered by the Ring’s immediate antagonism. 

          Although I have published mostly canon-based stories to date, that doesn’t mean I haven’t considered AU stories--merely that I hadn’t written many and hadn’t posted any to date.  In fact I do have another longer AU story in the works, but am reluctant to begin posting it until I have more of it written.

          Until last fall I tried not to have more than one longer story written, as it’s often easier to keep up the flow of my writing if I don’t switch from one story line to another and back again.  However, with Stirring Rings I found myself needing to do otherwise.  Stirring Rings is one of the most difficult stories I’ve ever written, for it takes constant reference to the Tale of Years and Lines of the Kings and Chieftains, not to mention to Unfinished Tales and The Silmarillion, to keep things even remotely straight.  And even then, with constant reference to the Tale of Years, I still manage to get things out of whack and find myself having to nudge things to get them back within canon.  To take a break from it is necessary from time to time.  And so I thought to do so by having two stories going at once, although now and then a plotbunny sneaks up on me and insists on being put into one of my short story collections.

 *

          So, here I sit one night not long ago, and I find this very attractive plot bunny peeking out at me from behind the large garbage can I use to store dog food in.  Oh, it was so sweet and simple looking, and had such innocent eyes.  I ought to have been on my guard, for if I’d remembered my Shrek II I would have recognized those eyes.  I had this idea for a collection of AU stories--Might Have Been stories--and even had the introductory chapter written in my head.  That was the easy part.  And the image of Aragorn and Sam each cradling the body of a dying Frodo was there, reflected in those so-innocent eyes of the harmless, sweet, pathetic little plot bunny, and how I SO love writing pathos....

          So I invited the dear little plot bunny along to the bedroom where the laptop on which I do most of my writing resides (a very deeply appreciated gift from the daughter and son-in-law and all) and never thought to look over my shoulder, for if I’d done so I would have seen that that darling, innocent looking face hauled an extremely long body behind it.  Puss in Boots in the castle of Far, Far Away has nothing on THIS nuzgul with ears on!

          You see, this was to have been a single-chapter story--and then a two-chapter story--and then three, then five, then SEVEN, and it appears it will reach at least nine at this point.  And this little AU nuzgul with ears on is MOST tenacious, insisting on being addressed until it is done with.  So, here I sit having to keep going, and going, and Gandalf isn’t getting anywhere near Lothlorien again; nor are Petunia and Persivo coming any closer to unraveling the mystery of what Cousin Frodo Baggins did out there during his absence from the Shire.  As for Frodo and Boboli Hedges--they do have another a meeting coming up and there’s a to-do regarding Denra Gorse’s suitors coming up as well--it’s outlined and all; but the surrounding story isn’t getting written because of this nuzgul.

          So, those who wish to know whether or not there will be a romance between Alvric and Denra, or see how I deal with the loss of Amroth and Nimrodel--I’m very sorry, but you’ll have to wait.

 *

          Tolkien and J.K. Rowling have both admitted that their stories are primarily about how we deal with our own mortality, and about death and dying in general; which of necessity include how we live before we die.  Both look at the trials faced by the characters involved, primarily those faced by Harry Potter himself and how he reacts to the dangers he sees threatening in his world in Rowling’s works; while in LOTR we find ourselves realizing each and every individual Tolkien introduces us to is facing his or her own test, even those whose experiences are not described in detail within the narrative.

          Many respond directly to the malicious intent of the Ring--Frodo must fight its influence constantly from the moment he becomes aware of its nature until the moment it is destroyed; and afterwards the psychic echoes It leaves behind are still to be battled.  Sam, wearing and carrying It as he crosses over the invisible border into Mordor, finds he is imagining himself as the Hero of the Age or the Mystical Gardener who with a Word brings life back to the lands devastated by Sauron.  Boromir, pressed by his father’s expectations he will be the one to prove the salvation of Gondor in general and Minas Tirith in particular as well as his own ambitions, hears the Ring’s promises to bring it all to be; and must struggle to keep in mind that the Ring was first devised by the one who was ever known as the Liar, and second that whatever one may seek to accomplish using the Ring’s power will be undone by Its intent.  Saruman, having despaired of finding ways to properly counter Sauron, now seeks to ease the world’s agonies by stopping the struggle against the Enemy’s evil and by convincing everyone to ally themselves with Sauron instead--until the idea he might supplant Sauron strikes him.

          Each individual faces his or her own test, and fails or triumphs.  The Ring goes into the Fire and the world, for the first time in over two thousand years, knows a feeling of relief, for at last the evil Maia who sought to take Morgoth’s place is also gone for good, and from now on the evil Man might face is what grows in his own heart, not wrought by immortals of unearthly power.

          Frodo initially knows relief after the Ring is destroyed, but the peace in his heart is not permanent.  He returns to his own land, but finds that the anniversaries of his worst woundings bring back the memories so deeply he can’t see much past them while they hold sway, although he does his best to push by them and to hide their depths from those around him.  But with the ones that afflict him on the day of Elanor’s birth he realizes he has been too changed to remain a simple Hobbit of the Shire, and he begins to make ready to leave.  So it is that before the fall’s remembrance of the wounding at Amon Sul can strike him he rides to meet the other ring-bearers in the Woody End, and accompanies them to the Havens and beyond, having made Sam his heir and left him and Rosie Bag End, half-promising that in his own time Sam might follow him over the Sea for a last reunion.

          That Frodo was suffering failing health may not be strictly canon, but neither is it excluded by canon.  It is probable that Frodo did know long-term disabilities resulting from his woundings, but that they were sufficiently unapparent that he felt he could hide them from those around him.  That he failed to do so properly from Sam is apparent by Sam and Rosie’s easy acceptance of his intent to leave the Shire, although it is obvious Sam believed he intended to follow Bilbo into retirement in Rivendell. 

          Bilbo was a hundred eleven when he quitted the Shire, but Frodo not quite half that, merely fifty-three, roughly the equivalent of a Man in his mid- to late thirties.  For Sam to accept the idea of him retiring to Rivendell, I do believe the distress Frodo knew had to have been more deep than mere memories relived on October sixth and March thirteenth.  And so I’ve felt it acceptable to follow the line of reasoning that sees a physical as well as emotional and spiritual decline in Frodo.

          This is a changing basically of one element in the story-line of the original and therefore in my own story lines; Frodo, on the night he lies out on the roof of Bag End in early September in my storyline, does not decided to leave the Shire; instead he chooses to remain in his homeland to finish his life as a Hobbit of the Shire.  That, of course, leads to other necessary changes.  If, as I’d previously indicated, Shelob injected the spirit of her mother Ungoliant into Frodo’s wound, then what happens to Ungoliant if Frodo doesn’t take her out of Middle Earth to be dealt with by the Maiar and Valar in the Undying Lands?  Once he’s dead, couldn’t she possibly break loose and wreak havoc on the Shire itself as well as surrounding lands?  She was, after all, one of the first of the Maiar to follow Melkor, taking the shape of a great spider, a weaver of evil and user of venom, and thus possibly having been in her early times a follower of Lórien or Vairë.  What better shape for such a one to take and be caught in, once she’d lost herself in Morgoth’s dreams of evil domination?

          Venemous spiders often do eat one another, after all; and that at one point Shelob might have consumed her mother’s body but ended up cohabitating with her mother’s spirit seemed a possibility.  So--there remains in Middle Earth one more potentially freed Maia with hatred ready to loose on the lands only recently freed from the threat of domination by Mordor.  That this must be faced by the denizens of Middle Earth is obvious; and being still within the Mortal Lands, Ungoliant would need a physical body in which to move, and the one mortal form she’s familiar with taking to herself is that of a spider....

          There is also a species of spider in South America that lays its eggs in open sores or injected under the skin of animals and individuals, and the spiderlings, much as happens with what certain wasps do with caterpillars, hatch and develop under the skin, feeding off their living hosts until they are ready to break free.  I rather imagine that such was the type of return Ungoliant would have wished for herself.

          Since this story is openly AU, Aragorn is able to make it this time to bid Frodo goodbye, and therefore is able to find and reveal the nascent spiderling and deal with it before it can become powerful enough to break free of Frodo’s grave and endanger the folk of the Shire.  And with her last form of a spiderling destroyed at such a vulnerable time, Ungoliant herself follows the same fate as her fellows--a greater shape than that of Saruman but lesser than Sauron, but all three dissipated by the winds, for the Maiar won’t welcome her return as one of their own, nor the Valar accept her service once more any more than they would do Saruman or Sauron or Melkor himself.

          The texts of the letters from Frodo Aragorn receives from Berevrion are given in the next to last chapter of The Acceptable Sacrifice; the third letter given there was not sent in this version.

          The butterfly glade of Lesser Rings is replaced by this group of butterflies from Bag End’s own gardens.  Some butterflies do fly in such swarms, and even migrate seasonally.  The image of the circle of fluttering butterflies encircling Frodo’s head in Lesser Rings is replaced by the individual insects lighting in Frodo and Sam’s hair, in a way revealing their majesty as Lords of all the Free Peoples to those closest to them, while for Frodo himself it is merely one last chance to delight as he’s ever done in the beauty and wonder of life as Iluvatar has given it to us.  Butterflies have ever been symbolic of the purity of the soul, and are seen by most Christians as symbolic of resurrection and rebirth.

          For Frodo, it is imperative that at the end his death be peaceful and blessed; and I do believe that the Valar and Creator might well have allowed such an offer from Eärendil to carry Frodo onward, much as I picture also in Reunion where after leaving his mortal life behind even Sam finds himself no longer afraid to accept the Mariner’s offer to ferry them to the Halls of Mandos and the beginning of the Way.

          I have again based Frodo’s symptoms on real-life maladies--angina, congestive heart failure, and a fairly mild heart attack.  I’ve had the chance to observe all three, after all.

          And, of course, characters from other stories are part of this one--the hidden twin cousins who grew up in Westhall in the far West Farthing as fosterlings to the Gravellies, the resentful Bartolo Bracegirdle, the caring Brendilac Brandybuck and Narcissa Boffin.  We are able to see their last interactions and how their distress is dealt with.

          In this vision the Shire cannot remain ignorant of what was done out there.  If Frodo sets himself to secretly leave it’s possible that in the end only a relative few will appreciate what happened out there; but if he dies at home at Bag End, and his family begins to gather, it becomes impossible to hide things and keep them hidden.  In my vision of Frodo’s youth he’s most delighted in helping others as he can.  Once the family starts gathering the word would pass quickly that Frodo was failing, and the questions would be asked.  And so it would be that Aragorn could now proclaim Frodo the Ring-bearer and let the ennoblement of Frodo and Sam to be known generally; and now those Elves remaining in Middle Earth would send representatives of their own to honor him at his internment.

          The title is a quote from one of the psalms, I believe; but was taken more directly from the title of a book written by a chaplain for a children’s hospital regarding her work with the families of dying children, one that’s been part of my personal library since the early seventies.

          This has been necessarily angsty, but as I said before I love writing pathos, so please forgive me.

          Now, to get back to my other stories, at long last freed of this one.

Post script:  Well, although I’ve resisted the gnawing of this particular Nuzgul to make the story even longer, he’s continued on until last night we at last made a compromise.  An epilogue--a simple epilogue and no more.  But I have a feeling he’s not completely content....

BLS, March 16, 2007