A very late birthday gift for Jay of Lasgalen, who wished to see Elladan and Elrohir separated for a time.  Beta'd by RiverOtter, and with thanks to Fiondil as well, though he's not read it as yet; and thanks also to the folk at LOTR Community for their suggestions.  Dreamflower and Elanor, hope you like the changes.

The Farewell in Gondor

I

            When Sam abruptly sat bolt upright in their bed, Rosie woke immediately.  “What is it?” she asked, reaching out to touch his arm.  “Another bad dream?”

            “It’s Mr. Frodo,” he whispered, as much to himself, she realized, as to her.  “It’s Mr. Frodo--he needs me!”

            “But, Sam, he’s not here.  He’s way off, there in the King’s city.”

            “I know.  But, Rosie my lass, I must go to him.”  He turned to look at her, and she could see the clear knowing in his eyes.  “I’m sorry, lovey, but he needs me.  I can feel it!  They’re comin’--comin’ to fetch me to him.  I must get ready.”

            She looked out the window--it was still at least an hour before dawn.  Had it been anyone but her Sam she’d have thought him merely touched by a particularly vivid dream.  But Sam--well, Sam knew things, and especially things about his Master.  And he’d been looking constantly east and south for a few days now.

            He’d already risen and was belting his dressing gown about him.  She folded back the blanket and rose, too.  He was lighting a lamp, and then was going to his dresser, opening drawers and pulling out carefully folded items and laying them on the bed.  He looked at her.  “Rosie, can you go to the kitchen and fill a small hamper for me--a couple loaves of bread, some cured meats and sausages, maybe some hard cheese as don’t need to be kept cool so much?  And a good deal o’ the stuff as I take with me when I’m out and about the Shire, checkin’ the gardens and trees and all?  There’s a dear one.”

            “Yes, sweetling,” she murmured, and turned to give him a peck of a kiss as she pulled her own dressing gown about herself before hurrying off the kitchen of Number Three.

            She had the hamper almost filled when he came into the kitchen and crossed to the storeroom to fetch his pack and some water bottles.  In moments he had filled the bottles and hung them over the back of one of the chairs at the table, then disappeared back toward the bedroom with the pack.  Once she was satisfied with what she’d gathered into the hamper she went to check on little Elanor.

            Master Frodo had named her--he’d sent a letter from the King’s city that had arrived the day of her birth, and in it he’d congratulated them on the birth of their Elanor, and it has been such a perfect name for her they’d not considered any other.  Her hair was such an unusual color--a light auburn, somewhat lighter than that of Mr. Pippin, really.  A number of children had been born with such hair since the three Travelers had returned, in fact--far more than had been seen in the Shire ever.  There’d even been some that had been born with blond hair, more than one usually saw, at least.  Rosie wished that Master Frodo had been able to see her--she was certain that he would have doted on the child.  She found herself looking up at the ceiling of Elanor’s nursery as if she could see through it into the great, empty smial of Bag End overhead, and somehow from there to where it was Master Frodo was, down in the King’s City, there with the King himself.  Would Sam actually go there again?  Was someone indeed coming to fetch him?

            Sam was dressed and ready, his Elven cloak over the back of a chair, when the Gaffer rose and made his creaking way into the kitchen.  He examined his son with concern.  “Why an’t ye out in the garden, or up the Hill?” he asked.

            “It’s all done, Dad,” Sam said, shaking his head, “or at least most of it is.  I’ve just spoke with the Twofoots, and they’ll send their youngest up to see to the final prunin’ and settlin’ of the roses for me.  But I’m goin’ to have to be off for a time, apparently.”

            “Where to?  Not goin’ t’ be climbin’ mountains and chasin’ black folks agin, are ye?”

            “No--need to get to the King’s city as quick as quick.  They’re sendin’ someone for me--ought to arrive sometime today, I’m thinkin’.  My Master--he needs me.”

            The Gaffer’s hearing was impaired, but he seldom seemed to miss what either Sam or Rosie said.  “Did a letter come from south-aways?”

            “No,” Sam replied, “no letter.  Just the knowing.”

            “You gonna wear that fancy stuff as the King give you afore?  That metal weskit?”

            Sam smiled for the first time.  “I don’t know as I’ll need to, but I have it ready for if’n they say as I should.  Last time--well, last time we needed it, what with all the footpads and orcs and all.  Still are some ruffians about, outside the Shire, after all.  If the one as comes for me says I need it, I’ll wear it.  Otherwise--well, otherwise, I won’t.”

            The old Hobbit gave a loud sigh.  “All right, that’s fair ’nough, I suppose.  But you watch yerself, lad.  Rosie ’n’ Ellie ’n’ me--we want yer back, safe’n’whole, you hear?”

            “I promise, Gaffer,” Sam smiled.  “I promise.”

            The clop of galloping hooves was heard not long after noon, and Sam was throwing his Elven cloak about his shoulders and catching up his pack immediately, and heading for the door.  Rosie caught up the hamper, while the Gaffer rose from his seat by the fire where he’d been holding Elanor to follow after his son and his wife.  A golden form shone from atop a white horse.

            “My Lord Samwise?  You are ready?”

            “Lord Glorfindel?  They sent you for me?  Yes--I am--been ready since just this side of sun-up, I’d say.”

            “Does he need that fancy metal weskit?” the Gaffer asked as Rosie pulled Sam to her for a final, surprisingly passionate kiss.

            The Elf smiled as he swung down.  “Nay, not this ride--although you do well to be concerned.  Nay, but himself and what little he’s prepared ought to be enough,” he added, looking at pack and hamper.

            “I don’t want to go, sweetling,” Sam murmured.  “I don’t want to leave you and our Ellie.”

            “I know, dearling,” she assured him, “but if’n Master Frodo does need you, he needs you.  You know as the Gaffer’n’ Daddy Twofoot and my brothers’ll see to us.”

            “I know,” he said softly as he kissed her again.

            “Go on, then,” she murmured.

            Sam broke away from his wife’s embrace reluctantly, then turned and climbed carefully atop the woodpile, and with the aid of the Elf clambered onto Asfaloth’s back.  The great horse wore a minimal saddle, to which the pack was soon fastened so that Sam could sit before the Elf.  The Elf took Elanor briefly to hold, smiling over her.  “It seems long and long, even for me, since I held so lovely a child,” he murmured.  He held her up so Sam could take her one last time to kiss her.

            “You take care, my little Ellie,” the Hobbit sighed into her hair.  “You take care, and don’t you go forgettin’ your Sam-Dad, you hear?”  He kissed her one more time before returning her to Glorfindel, who exchanged her for the hamper of food.

            Sam looked down one last time at his wife as the Elf mounted.  “You take care, dearling,” he admonished.  “I’ll be back as soon as may be--shouldn’t be too terrible long, I’m thinkin’.  Maybe just long enough for----”  He swallowed, unable to finish.  He looked back over his shoulder at the Elf.  “Is he in a bad way?”

            “From what we’ve learned from Undómiel, he’s apparently had a major seizure of his heart.  He recovers some, but will likely not recover completely, unless....”  He didn’t finish, and Sam nodded.

            “Take care, and keep warm,” Rosie called after them as the Elf turned his horse.

            “I will--will return as soon as I can,” Sam called back, leaning to look as well as he might about the Elf as they reached the end of the lane and Glorfindel turned toward the Road.  Then they were gone.

The Farewell in Gondor

II

            Sam’s head was in a muddle during most of the two-day ride to the Sarn Ford, but he wasn’t surprised to see Gandalf and one of the sons of Elrond waiting there, Pippin before Gandalf and Merry before the other as Glorfindel swept up to them.  There was a pause for greetings before they turned their horses together to cross over the ford at the shallows, the Bounder and Shiriff on duty there saluting and watching after.  Sam looked at the dark-haired Elf.  “But the one of you, this time?” he asked.

            There was a nod.  “Elrohir remains in Rivendell for the moment, although he will follow after soon,” he answered.  “He’s already bade farewell to our adar; to do so again would tear him almost apart.  He plans to arrive just after the ship sails.”

            “What ship?” asked Pippin as they finally found themselves riding along the road southeastwards toward the Greenway and into the growing dark of evening.

            “Our father has chosen to follow our mother, at long last, into the West.  But when word reached them that the Ringbearer was possibly failing, the ship sailed first south and plans to come up the Anduin that they might reach him.  It will be difficult for Adar and our sister both to need to see one another once more after they’ve already bade each other farewell, but it cannot be helped.  She and Estel both attend on Frodo, to give him what aid they can to help him hang on until the ship reaches Minas Tirith.”

            “Let us ride,” Gandalf interrupted, “if we would arrive in time.”

            There was a nod from the others, and they reached the Greenway sometime near midnight, continuing southwards for another hour toward Tharbad and beyond.

*******

            “I ought not to have insisted he stay behind,” Pippin fussed as they carefully gathered wood for a small fire at their first camp.  They’d been advised they wouldn’t rest long, so they should make the best of what time they were granted, but Sam was needing a mug of tea.

            “You made the best decision you could for him,” Merry pointed out.  “I mean--he has Aragorn by him, and the Lady Arwen, and the Houses of Healing and all.  And this was the reason we decided to insist he stay behind, you know, because we saw he wasn’t getting better anywhere near properly enough.  If he’s has a seizure in--in spite of all that--do you think he would have survived, perhaps, to get home?”

            “It might have done better,” Pippin said, as he picked up a last broken branch and turned back toward the campsite that had been chosen.  “He could maybe have talked some sense into Mum and Da, after all.  The stars know I haven’t been able to do so.”

            “And perhaps had he come home the two of you mightn’t of ended up havin’ to stay in the Crickhollow house,” Sam added.  “Your folks, Mr. Merry--they’re fine ones, I know--but they do worry about you way too much, I’m thinkin’, if I might say so as perhaps shouldn’t.”

            “Oh, you have the right of it, although they’re starting to come around,” Merry agreed.  “But what I’m thinking would have come out better had he come home was the whole ruffian and Sharkey business.  Uncle Pal’s gotten way too worried about ruffians, you know--has Took archers out alongside the Bounders, and they’re ruffled far too easily.  If we hadn’t come on them at the southern borders last month, I still think they’d have shot at those Rangers.  That could have led to some bad feelings between our folk and Strider’s, you know.  And those who shot Saruman and Wormtongue--they’ll never get over it, I’m afraid.  To see that grey ghost-thing rise from Sharkey’s body like that!”

            “He was doin’ his best to goad you into doin’ it with your sword,” Sam pointed out.  “That one--he wanted to die.”

            Reluctantly Merry nodded as they rejoined Elves and Wizard.

            Having gotten some warm tea down him, Sam rolled himself up in his blankets and tried to sleep.  What he remembered, however, was Frodo’s face as the three of them turned on him in Edoras and insisted he stay there with the Lady Arwen and go back to Minas Tirith with Aragorn.  “You’ll do so much better there,” Merry had said.  “Oh, Frodo--you know I would never be parted from you again if it could be managed.  But you’re just not truly getting better!”

            “They love you, too, Frodo,” Pippin had argued.  “And they’ll stay by you through thick and thin, just as we would.”

            Frodo had turned toward Sam.  “You don’t want me to stay here, away from the Shire, do you?” he asked, almost begging.  “Bilbo--what will he think if I don’t come back to see him again?”

            It was at that point that Gandalf had joined them.  “And what is this?  You’d have him remain here in the South?  But how do you know he doesn’t have something yet to do in the Shire?”

            It had felt odd, to be arguing against the Wizard as much as against Frodo; but in the end the three of them had prevailed.  Aragorn had heard the arguing and had come to see what it was all about.  He’d not taken one side or the other, and had looked concerned when at last Frodo, worn down by their arguments, agreed; but he’d drawn Frodo toward him, his hands protectively on the Hobbit’s shoulders, and even Sam, who hated the thought of arguing against his beloved Master, had been relieved to think that this was where Frodo Baggins would stay, at the side of his friend and King, those healing hands ever close enough to comfort and strengthen.

            And what had staying brought him?  Not three years since they left the Shire, and Frodo had yet suffered a seizure of the heart, even with Aragorn and the Lady Arwen both by his side.  He heard a decided “Hummph!” near him and turned to see Gandalf rolling himself in his cloak and a blanket beside him.

            “One of the Elves takin’ the first watch, then?” Sam asked.

            “Elladan has insisted upon it.  Being headed south ahead of his brother disturbs him somewhat.”

            Sam nodded.  “When ought we to arrive?” he asked at last.

            “I’d think on the Birthday,” Gandalf sighed.  “And the grey ship ought also to be arriving about then.  It will be a relief to Bilbo to be able to be by Frodo’s side.”

            “Old Bilbo--he’s comin’ on the ship?” Sam asked as he shifted more to face the Wizard.

            Gandalf nodded.  “I was to come, also--but something told me to follow after--that I’d be needed here.  And now I know why.”

            “Would it have been better, perhaps, had he come home to the Shire with us, ’stead of stayin’ in Minas Tirith?” Sam asked.

            There was a pause before the Wizard answered.  “I suspect that it might well have been better had he accompanied you.  I cannot say he’d have been any better in health--his heart was damaged by his ordeal, after all.  Although I suspect that the failure of it would have been going on fairly steadily had he remained with you rather than all at once as it has turned out.  But he would have probably been chosen to serve as deputy Mayor rather than Will Whitfoot’s nephew Gordolac, and he would have done a far better job of it.”

            “No question of that!” Sam agreed.  “No criticism of Gordo, of course, but he’s not the brightest star in the sky, after all.  He’d still not sorted through all them documents as built up in the Mayor’s office since we left the Shire by the time as old Will come back; and we’d not have Timono Bracegirdle in custody and all what he took with him of jewelry and all if’n the Rangers hadn’t of caught him and brought him back to the Brandywine Bridge.  Good thing as the Master’s brighter’n the Mayor and Thain both and set up a gaol of sorts to hold him.  My Rosie’s been goin’ with me to Brandy Hall to help sort through things--she’s helped see lots of things returned to their rightful owners, she has.”

            “You chose well, Sam.  A worthy one your Rosie is.  That’s one grief Frodo knew--that he not be by you on the day you wed.”

            “Did him ’n’ Lord Strider watch it, there in the Palantir?”

            “I suspect they did.”

            Relieved, Sam nodded.  “I’m glad,” he sighed, as he turned his head and at last closed his eyes.

            The Wizard reached out a hand and caressed the Hobbit’s head.  “Yes, a worthy wife for a most worthy one,” Gandalf whispered as Sam sank into a deep, exhausted sleep.  “May we arrive before it’s too late.”

*******

            As they prepared for the next ride Sam, gathering what stores there were into the hamper so that Glorfindel could hand it up to Merry to carry for the next part of the ride, heard Pippin questioning the Lady Arwen’s brother.  “He’ll be all right, won’t he, riding by himself?”

            “He won’t be riding alone, either.  One of our warriors and one from Lothlórien will ride with him.”

            When Pippin spoke again, Sam could hear the relief.  “Oh, that’s good.  I just worry....”

            “There is little need, small master.  My brother and those who will accompany him know their business, as we do ours.  I will not say,” he continued, “that it does not feel strange to know he follows after as he does; but he comes quickly enough to come to our sister’s comfort when our father leaves Middle Earth altogether; but slowly enough that there is not the farewell to do all over again.”

            “Can you speak with him--mind to mind, I mean--the way we saw your grandparents and your father and Gandalf do there as we returned northward?”

            As he stowed the last of his gear into the satchel he carried as he rode, Elladan appeared to be considering the question.  “There are few enough of the Elves on this side of the Sea that can do that,” he said at last.  “We can--feel--somewhat, at least, what those we care about are feeling, and know ósanwë with the minds of a very few, as I’ve found myself able with the Ringbearer.  Arwen can do more--but then she’s spent more times with Daernaneth and Daeradar than Elrohir and I have done.  Perhaps because he once stood before the faces of the Valar themselves when he made the choice to live as one of the Firstborn, our Father has this ability, although not so strongly as it is seen in our grandmother.  And I suspect that having lived once in Doriath Daeradar learned the way of it.  Or perhaps it is only because he has spent so many yeni at his wife’s side.  As for him--” he indicated Glorfindel, “as one who was reborn and sent back to us, he appears to dwell in both realms at once at times, although he also appears able to dwell here in this one fully.

            “But my brother and I--there is no question that there is a bond between us--a very strong bond.  We were not born individually as was true of our father and his muindor, and are, we are told, almost identical in looks as they were not.  We are not quite as were the two youngest children of Fëanor, but there is no question that we each always appear to know what the other does, even when we are far separated.”  He looked back northward.  “And right now he is focusing on seeing to it his goods are ready for the ride, and that he has enough to bring for the both of us.  As I must ride quickly and lightly, there is little I have brought with me that I will not need on the journey--he brings clothing for both of us and so on.  There will be a packhorse with their party.”

            One last time they checked over the site to see they had all, and Glorfindel lifted each of the Hobbits to place before the rider with whom he traveled before joining Sam atop Asfaloth.  At a nod, the Balrog-slayer led the way, Gandalf right behind, Elladan and Merry at the back.

The Farewell in Gondor

III

            At the Gap of Rohan they were met by Éomer King and his household guards.  The King of Rohan rode one of the Mearas, a second following alongside him.  These turned to ride behind them, following them as a guard of honor as they made their way swiftly through the land of Rohan.

            On the last night they did not stop, but paused only long enough to allow all to relieve themselves, refill their water bottles, and continue.  Once they turned southwards past Amon Dîn Sam seemed to feel nothing but the misery of the long, hurried ride, even the anxiety he felt toward his Master’s condition overwhelmed for once by the exhaustion that had overtaken all three Hobbits.  The two Elves rode side by side with Gandalf riding ahead on Shadowfax.  “I’m thinking,” Merry called across to Sam, “that I’ll never again consider such a journey as this, not even for Frodo or Aragorn’s sake.”

            “Give me--give me time to recover, maybe I’d do it again--or--or maybe not!” Sam called back.  He could not be certain, but he had the impression that Lord Glorfindel was amused.

            At last they crested the final ridge, and they could see the White City beginning to gleam under the light of Anor, who was just lifting her head above the Ephel Dúath.  “At last!” Sam breathed, and he could feel Glorfindel’s arm squeeze gently in agreement.  Gandalf leaned forward and spoke to Shadowfax, who tossed his head before heading down the ridge toward the Rammas Echor.  Sam could feel Asfaloth beneath him bunch his muscles to follow, and Elladan’s steed also launched itself into the final effort.

            “The White Rider!”

            “They come--the Lord Perhael comes!”

            “Mithrandir has come at last!”  Sam wasn’t certain how it was he heard these cries, but there was no question that he did so as those manning the openings of the outer walls of the Pelennor pulled aside to allow them through, the Rohirrim barely keeping up.  Only Éomer himself, this time riding Shadowfax’s son Shadowfire, was able to truly keep pace.

            “The Ernil i Pheriannath...the Nazgul’s Bane....”

            “One of our Lord and Lady’s brothers, do you see?”

            None stayed them as they followed the road to the barrier where the gates hopefully would stand again soon.  Gimli and Legolas waited there on Arod’s back.  “Good!” Gimli called out.  “He’s been holding on for you!”

            Legolas, however, was looking beyond them, toward the Harlond.  “One of Lord Círdan’s ships comes!” he exclaimed.  “Does it come for him?”

            Sam could see the expression of relief on Gandalf’s face.  “Good,” the Wizard sighed, stretching.  “If we have all arrived in time....”  He turned to look through the still empty gateway.  “One last lap, my friends,” he said as he nudged Shadowfax, who passed the hastily withdrawn barrier and started up the ways of the city.  Éomer paused to give orders to his Riders, then followed them accompanied by Éothain.

            “How is he?” Pippin asked Gimli.

            “Better, I think, but still very weak.  He was able to rise yesterday briefly, but was soon back in his bed.  What is worst is that he can barely keep food down him.”

            “Aragorn sent a carriage to the Harlond an hour back--I must suppose that they will bring Master Bilbo and Lord Elrond to him as soon as can be managed,” Legolas added.  “But to have the four of you by him will hearten him most greatly, I believe.”

            The talk stopped as they wove their way up the main streets of Minas Tirith.  Guards saluted them, and the citizens of the city came out to watch the short procession of great horses pass.  Now and then a woman or older child would hurry forward to offer flowers or sprays of greenery.  “Mae govannen!” they heard frequently.

            “Please--carry to the Cormacolindo my prayers for his recovery!” a woman begged of Sam as she thrust a spray of woods orchids at him.

            In the Fourth Circle the Hobbits recognized the master glassblower and his daughter who had befriended Frodo during their stay in the city.  They came forward with graceful vases filled with late flowers and greenery.  “They said you were coming,” the Man explained as he handed them up to Merry and Pippin.  “Tell him we think of him constantly.”

            In the Fifth Circle a young Man came forward with a sheaf of late roses and peacock feathers and handed them solemnly to Sam, who nodded his thanks, trying not to weep at these expressions of concern.  At the gate to the Sixth Circle they were greeted with deepest respect.  “They await you at the stable, my lords,” they were told.  “Master Frodo is within the Citadel, where Master Eldamir and Mistress Ioreth attend on him alongside our Lord King and Lady Queen.  We were asked to advise you that his condition is stable, but guarded.”

            At the stable grooms stood waiting for them.  Sam and Pippin were all but weaving with stiffness as they were aided to the ground; in but a moment the other horses were stripped of what little tack they might carry, and at a word from their masters had turned to follow the grooms into the stalls prepared for them.  Merry looked after the spare horse that had followed Éomer, and finally commented, “I’d thought you had brought him to switch off to, but you didn’t.”

            “He is one of the Mearas, and is second son to Shadowfax, brother to Shadowfire here whom I rode this time.  When I knew we must ride such a distance quickly again, I made the decision to use Shadowfire; his brother simply followed after and would not be dissuaded.  He will allow folk to groom him; but has never suffered any to ride upon him--not to this date, at least.  I have a suspicion he has set his heart upon making himself my brother Aragorn’s second steed, although how well his Roheryn will accept such a rival I could not say.”

            Merry nodded, accepting back the vase taken from him before he dismounted.  Two Guardsmen came forward to take what luggage had been brought, and as soon as all indicated readiness they headed for the ramp to the Seventh Level.

            It proved that Frodo was not in the Citadel; a low cot had been brought out under the White Tree, and there Frodo rested.  “It’s like it was when we awoke in Ithilien,” Sam murmured.  “He rests the better, I’ll wager, with starlight and sunlight able to fall on him.”

            Not trusting himself to speak, Merry nodded before leading the way forward, Pippin and Sam not quite a half-step behind him on either side.  Aragorn sat on a low stool beside the cot; the Lady Arwen rose from a nearby bench and came to greet them.  She exchanged glances with Gandalf, her brother, and Glorfindel; but it was to the Hobbits she spoke first.  “He was growing restless last night, and expressed the desire to be under the stars and the Tree.  If it will grant him ease, Estel will deny him nothing.  They lit the beacon at Amon Dîn to herald your passing; word that you would be here shortly after the dawn caused him to smile, although he worries that you are yourselves near exhaustion.”

            “The grey ship from Mithlond has arrived also,” Glorfindel informed her.  “Your adar ought to arrive shortly.” 

            She nodded in return, reaching out to embrace her brother.  “Welcome, Elladan,” she murmured as they held on to one another.  “If together we might give him any aid to remain--perhaps reach Tol Eressëa--with Adar and Daernaneth beside him--he might still find healing.”

            “It is to be hoped, my sister,” he murmured in agreement, holding her closely a moment before reluctantly releasing her to lead the approach to the low cot, the Hobbits pressing close to him as he knelt by it, opposite Aragorn.  He gave his sister’s husband a nod of acknowledgment and turned his attention to Frodo.

            “He drifted into a sleep some minutes ago,” Aragorn whispered.

            “So we see,” Pippin murmured, his eyes searching the quiet face of his sleeping cousin hungrily.  His face was thin, but peaceful.  He lay back at an angle, his torso lifted to ease his breathing.  His hand lay atop the coverings, and all paused.  That first look in over two years at the gap where Gollum had bitten off the ring finger of Frodo’s right hand seemed to take the breath of all three Hobbits; and there was something--something about the left hand that seemed--decidedly odd.

            Sam came around the cot to stand at Aragorn’s side, and reached out to take that left hand.  “Not truly cold,” he said softly, “but not quite right.”

            Gandalf had followed the gardener around the cot himself, and reached over Sam’s shoulder to touch Frodo’s wrist before looking into the King’s eyes.  “Then it’s continued--my vision of him becoming like a vessel filled with Light.”

            Arwen answered him, “Yes, Mithrandir, so it’s been.  Each day his Light of Being has become more obvious, even as he has fought to remain as he was.

            “He’s worked so hard to remain a child of Middle Earth, even as he’s continued to become otherwise and as the memories have sought to overpower him.  We weren’t truly certain that the memories so took him until last spring.  We’d thought so last fall, on the anniversary of when he was stabbed with the Morgul knife; but until the illness of last spring, remembering when the spider bit him, he did his best to be as awake and aware and--alive as he could be.  He’d finally managed to increase his stamina to go up and down through the city without tiring; he’d forced himself to dance once more.  It was all as much out of the need to defy his mortality, I think, as to bring himself back as much to life as was possible.  But in the spring he was badly hit.  He still tried to hide it all, but could not do so effectively, and fears the changes he perceives within himself.  On the day of the New Year he was quiet throughout the morning, and at about the hour in which the Ring went into the Fire he suddenly collapsed in the midst of the ceremony of remembrance, and afterwards kept murmuring of how much of him had been lost with It.  It was evening before he came quite to himself once more; and he was weak afterwards.  Slowly over the summer he’s once more worked to bring himself back. 

            “The night this happened he appeared to be quite cheerful and fully himself once more, laughing and joking as together he and Estel prepared a meal in the smaller kitchen of our wing, when suddenly he stopped, as if surprised.  ‘I feel odd,’ he said as he stepped toward the rocking chair Estel had set there for him--he sat heavily in it, then gave a cry of pain.  Estel had only just set athelas to steep for him as a tea as we’ve learned such helps him greatly; now he added willowbark and honey and other herbs to strengthen and ease the heart.  It helped, but could not halt the attack.  He’s been slow to recover, and without the promise of your coming I fear he would gladly have allowed himself to die.  He is not at all afraid of dying, we find; but we fear that to continue to have to live, almost totally diminished now and so subject to the memories, causes him a great deal of distress.”

            “What they’ve said--about the Elven ship that’s come--will that give him the chance to live--truly live a proper, full life again?” Merry asked, his own face almost as pale as that of the Hobbit sleeping in the cot.  “If we--encourage him to--to go with the Elves...?”

            Aragorn spoke at last, his voice still with his own measure of grief.  “We hope it will be so, Merry.”

            Pippin was reaching down to take Frodo’s maimed hand in his, and he was weeping.  “I’m sorry, Frodo--I shouldn’t have insisted you stay--we should have had you come home with us.”

            Frodo’s eyes opened slowly, and with a bit of puzzlement at first, then a gentle smile of gladness.  “You--you came,” he whispered, his voice barely discernible.  “At last you came.  But you need rest--you all need rest.  It was so far to come--so swiftly.”

            “You foolish, beloved, dear, caring Hobbit, you,” Gandalf smiled through his own worry.  “We may be tired, but that can be mended quickly and easily enough.  However, we did not ride as swiftly as we have to merely fall exhausted into our beds when we’ve but come to your side.  None of these will be truly willing to rest until he is certain you are yourself on the mend.”

            Frodo’s look was direct as he searched the Wizard’s eyes.  “On the mend?” he whispered.  “I’m past that, Gandalf.  I’ve--hung on--to see you when--you arrived.  It’s time.”

            Arwen leaned over him.  “Even now, Frodo, Bilbo is coming up through the city with my father.”

            Frodo’s expression was alarmed.  “You brought Bilbo with you?” he asked Glorfindel.  “How could--how could he bear it?”

            The ancient Elf leaned down to stroke Frodo’s cheek.  “Nay, he came not with us, sweet Iorhael.  He has come by ship to fetch you away, if you will agree to go.  Yea, it is indeed time--but perhaps it is not time for you to die, not just yet, at least.  You were advised the gift was offered you, the chance to heal at last.  Will you accept it, for your sake and for his?  But wait and see him when he comes, and then decide.”

            Frodo looked at each of them--Kings, Queen, Elves, Dwarf, Peredhel, his cousins, Sam.  His eyes fixed on Sam’s, and he smiled in spite of himself, fumbling his hand free of Pippin’s to brush his index finger across Sam’s cheek.  “Oh, my Sam--how I’ve missed you since you’ve been gone.  How I wish I’d gone with you--seen you married--held little Elanor.”  He looked back at where Merry stood. “O Merry mine--and Pippin.  I should have stood by you.”

            “Oh, Frodo--it’s probably good you weren’t there to have to face that Sharkey, or to see what Lotho’s Big Men and he made of Bag End.”   Tears were falling from Merry’s eyes.  “As for Uncle Pal and Aunt Lanti--they’ve been so stubborn they’d have driven even you to distraction.  They won’t believe Pippin--not at all!  And Mum and Dad have been just as bad with us as they ever were with you, trying to protect us from about everything; although I must admit they at least believe what we can bring ourselves to say.”

            It was growing darker as clouds rolled in from the southwest.  Aragorn looked up with concern.  “We need to take you back inside, small brother--I won’t allow you to become chilled.”  He signaled to two Guardsmen who stood nearby, who came forward at once and with great care lifted the cot and carried it within the Citadel, then back through the Hall of Kings to the living quarters, back to the room that had once been prepared for Frodo and Sam to share.  Here Healer Eldamir and Mistress Ioreth awaited him, and soon were seeing to his comfort while Aragorn and Arwen led the others to the reception room at the end of the hallway where they’d often met during the months the Fellowship had remained in the King’s city, while Belveramir and Iorvas brought trays of herbal drinks and juice and sweet morning breads for them all.

            Aragorn was embracing Éomer.  “It is a lightening of my grief to see you once more, my brother in duty,” he said.  “All is well in your land?”

            “Aye--and I believe one of those whose welfare I am to protect wishes to offer himself to your service, if you will have him and if he is certain once he sees you.  But of that we will speak later, for he waits in the stables of the Sixth Circle, I believe for when we go down once more through the city.”

            “You allow him so much freedom?” Aragorn asked, intrigued.

            “Ah, but he is a willful one, and he has indicated he will seek his own master.”

            Gandalf laughed, and Aragorn shot him a look.  Éomer touched Aragorn’s shoulder to recall his attention.  “Brother, how is it Frodo has come to this condition?  When we saw you at Midsummer he was, to all eyes, well.”

            Aragorn, however, was shaking his head.  “He would appear well, my friend, but that has not been true since he was rescued from the ruins of Orodruin.  Nay, too deep and pervasive have the scars remained to allow for that.  Not here in Middle Earth could he ever know true healing.”

            “Then he must die?  And these have come to ease his way?”

            Aragorn’s shake of the head was slightly delayed.  “Nay--he has been granted the right to go with his elderly cousin to Tol Eressëa for what remains of his life, a life once more in hope of promise and not diminishment.  The Valar can at least somewhat approach him there, and offer him the healing we cannot give him here.  It is to be hoped that there he might be able to dance once more in delight rather than in defiance of his weakness, that he might sing in joy rather than in longing.  And there he will be able to come to appreciate rather than fear the changes he perceives within himself.  I do not fully appreciate what this becoming means; but apparently it is the process perverted by Sauron that allowed him and his Nazgul to reduce those wounded by Morgul knives to wraiths.  More and more his Light of Being is being made visible to those who behold him, and there is a growing transparency to him at times.  Here his body cannot appear to fully support what is occurring.  I would not have him die betimes and so fail to realize that this is perhaps a most blessed of states.”

            “And there he will live as do the Elves?”

            “For what time is granted him--we hope the full count of years common to Hobbits.  For the Valar cannot--and I trust will not think of seeking to deny him the Gift of Iluvatar when it is by rights time for him to receive it.  But it will undoubtedly be when it is indeed a time of his own choosing, when he is fully ready.”

            Sam looked back at him from where he’d laid the sheaf of roses and feathers.  “So--that’s what’s been offered him, is it?”

            Aragorn nodded, then added gently, “I don’t know if he’s told you as yet, for he didn’t wish for you to be long separated from your wife and child, but it is offered you, also, but at a time of your choosing.  If he does not go now--and if Bilbo does not go now--then the probability is that neither will survive until the next ship is ready to sail.”

            “And so--so I could perhaps come to him, there, afore the end?”

            “Yes.”

            “And we could--could go on together?”

            “If that is what you desire to do.”

            Sam nodded, slowly and thoughtfully.  “My dear, dear, stubborn Master,” he sighed.

            The Man came to him and knelt, and then the two of them were clinging together, holding each other in comfort and promise.

 *******

            It was some time later that they were admitted into Frodo’s chamber.  He’d been shifted into a larger bed, although still quite low.  “I had it made for him,” Aragorn murmured to them as they stood in the doorway, “that I might remain by him for a time on the nights when he was most disturbed by the nightmares.  I now better understand how it was that the four of you would seek to sleep so close to one another along the way when times were darkest.  For you Hobbits so much comfort is known as you touch one another, even more so than is common amongst Men.  Now that I share my bed with my beloved wife, I so understand how long I remained alone and how difficult that was for me.  It is so much easier to lie by another, I find.”

            Pippin nodded.  “I’m so glad, Strider, that you’ve been able to be by him.  We shouldn’t have forced him to stay behind, perhaps; but at least he’s always known that you were there by him when we couldn’t be.”  He, Merry, and Sam again carried the flowers and greenery given them along the way.

            Eldamir sat in the chair on the other side of the bed.  “He’s been bathed and given what he could receive.  Perhaps you can coax some more broth or cooked meal into him.”

            “We’ll do what we can.”

            The healer rose to surrender the chair to Sam, who was soon seated by Frodo’s  side.  Merry and Pippin set the vases on the tables that sat on either side of the bed, and Sam placed the roses he bore in a vase brought in by Ioreth before turning his attention to the tray of food that sat there.  “There was several as sent their best wishes to you along the way,” he commented.  “They’re hopin’ as you’ll do your best to recover.  They’d not wish to see you dyin’ afore your time.  Do you think as you could swallow some of this gruel, Master?”

            “I’ll try,” Frodo said, but it was soon obvious he was barely able to swallow much.  “Give me a few minutes,” he murmured, “and tell me what you can of--of your homecoming.  When did you--realize--Saruman was there?”

            Sam looked at Merry, who’d sat himself cross-legged on the bed, while Pippin had laid himself on his stomach, his chin propped on his hands.  Merry nodded, and said, “Well, the first we were aware Saruman was heading north was the fifth day after we said goodbye to Strider, near where Pippin had looked into the Palantir.  He tried to curse the Lady Galadriel, but I rather think it just bounced off of her--she didn’t quite laugh in his face, but it was plain she wasn’t impressed.  He was rude to everyone, particularly Gandalf and us Hobbits, and totally ignored Lord Halladan.  I was going to give him some pipeweed, but he stole my whole pipeweed wallet.  I think he was disappointed not to see you; but his looks at Pippin and me were downright poisonous, while the expression he gave Sam--I’m not certain what to say about it, except it appeared that for some reason Sam seemed to frighten him.”

            He went on to describe the journey back to the Shire, the prolonged stay near the road to Caradhras where the Elves and Gandalf had indulged in their last, voiceless conference; the talks with Lord Halladan and his folk; the arrival at Rivendell.  Every few minutes Sam would press one more swallow of gruel or broth or tea on Frodo; and in this manner he was able to see to it Frodo managed to get rather more food into him than he’d been able to stomach for days.  Then there was a knock at the door, and it opened to admit Bilbo and Lord Elrond.

            “Now, this is a fine situation,” Bilbo observed as he was led forward and seated in the chair that Sam had been occupying.  “You can’t quite seem to find your full strength, can you, my boy?”

            “Oh, Bilbo--I’m so sorry I didn’t come back to see you again.”

            “I understood, my Frodo-lad.  Do not worry, dear child--I understood.  It left you so wounded, much deeper than It did me.  Stars know that was deep enough!”

            Frodo nodded, closing his eyes as he swallowed.

            “I was telling of our journey home, and had just come to our arrival there in Rivendell,” Merry explained.

            “I’m rather glad you didn’t see me then,” Bilbo said as he examined the cup of tea.  “I couldn’t keep awake for anything.  It’s been much better since I got aboard the grey ship, you know.  Most interesting, that.  I look forward to seeing you find your strength again as well.  Could you take a swallow of this, do you think?”

            Merry continued, “We stayed there some time, for the Birthday.  Bilbo was rather disappointed not to be able to share it with you, although he kept saying he was glad you were by the Dúnadan.”

            “And that I was,” Bilbo commented.  “Now, can you manage a sip of broth?”

            “It was pleasanter taking the road home instead of going through the Midgewater Marshes,” Pippin added.  “Now, that is one part of our original wanderings I’d never wish to repeat, and I sorely regret going through them to begin with.”

            “Be glad as you didn’t have to follow Slinker through the Dead Marshes,” Sam yawned from where he’d laid himself at the foot of the bed.  “That was worse, if’n it’s possible.”

            “Then at Amon Sul we turned north to visit Annúminas, to see where the northern capital is being rebuilt,” said Merry.  “It’s a beautiful place, and Frodo, you’d love the lake.  It was while we were coming back south toward Bree that the weather finally broke, and we were drenched when we got to the Prancing Pony.  Pippin woke the next morning there with the sniffles, so we stayed four days, then headed back home.  They warned us of the gate Lotho’d erected as we left Bree, and Gandalf left us to go on by ourselves with the warning it might be closed before we got there if we didn’t move quickly.  By the way,” he asked, looking up at where the Wizard now stood inside the door, Aragorn on the other side of the doorframe, “how was your visit with Tom Bombadil?”

            “Most restful.” Gandalf’s eyes shone at the expression of curiosity on Pippin’s face, but he’d say no more.

            “I still think we could have used your help facing down Sharkey,” Merry commented.

            “It seems to me you did well enough on your own,” Gandalf returned.  “It’s no longer my business to guide those who inherit the stewardship of the mortal lands, you see.  As I said then, you’ve all grown up, amongst the highest there are.  And once his staff was broken and he was cast from our order, Saruman became no more my exclusive charge.”

            “When did he enter the Shire?” Frodo asked.

            “Apparently just around your birthday--came in at the Sarn Ford, from what we learned later, him and that Worm creature.  As for what we found....”

            Frodo listened with interest to the description of the climbing of the gate and the confrontation with Bill Ferny, and the pony Bill’s reaction to his first sight of his old master.  He almost laughed at the description of the forced march from the Bridge toward Hobbiton, and the admonition for the crowd of Shiriffs to follow after as they could.

            “You’d not believe the courage of those who came to stand by us,” Pippin recalled.  “As for Rosie’s dad--a truly remarkable Hobbit indeed.  Sam’s so lucky to have him as a father-in-love.  He stood there, warming his hands over the fire as the Big Men arrived, and drew them into the gap--and then we had them.  The Battle of Bywater will be remembered forever, I think.  But to find ourselves fighting the final battle there in the center of the Shire itself was something I’d have never thought to see.”

            “What happened to the Men?” Frodo asked.

            “Here, take a bite of this toast,” suggested Bilbo, and Frodo did so, his attention fixed on the others.

            “Almost all of them were killed--all the ones who were half-orcs certainly died,” Pippin admitted. “A few of those who were true Men laid down their weapons, and those we saw to the borders of the Shire and turned loose.  But the half-orcs--we couldn’t let them go.  They were so vicious!”

            Merry went on, “Then we marched up to Bag End intending to face down Lotho, and found ourselves facing Sharkey himself instead.  He was trying to goad me into killing him, I think, and something stayed my hand.  It was as if I heard you, whispering into my ear not to let him force me into becoming a murderer.  When he tried to stab Sam, though, that was more than anyone else could take, and the Took archers shot both him and Wormtongue.  I’ll tell you the truth--after what the Lady Éowyn told me of how he’d treated her while her uncle was bespelled, I was glad to think of him dead, also.  But at the same time I was appalled, for it was as if I could see what he might have been like had he not been caught by Saruman.”

            “And Uncle Pal and Aunt Lanti--they aren’t believing you?”  At Pippin’s suddenly grim expression, Frodo sighed.

            “No, they refuse to believe in the Ring or Black Riders, and they treat me as if I were twenty instead of almost thirty.  If they could get away with it, they’d still have me wearing the clothing I wore before the quest, Frodo.  And Da’s furious that I won’t stay in the Great Smial with them more than a day or two at best.”

            Frodo nodded, absently accepting another spoon of the gruel.  He looked up into Aragorn’s eyes as he finished swallowing.  “Can you arrange for--for Lord Halladan--to go with them, to the Great Smial--confront the Thain and his Lady?  They have to believe.”  He leaned back tiredly.  “If I’d gone--maybe--maybe I could have convinced them.  Whether I die or--or accept the Queen’s gift--it can’t go on, them not believing.”  He closed his eyes, his lips thinning somewhat.

            “The headache again?” Sam asked.

            Frodo gave a small nod and grimaced, keeping his eyes closed.  “Yes--they are worse--at times.”

            “We should go--let you sleep,” Pippin suggested.

            Frodo gave a faint smile.  “No--you need to rest, too.  Stay by me, but let--let us stay quiet for a time.  I’ll be--well enough.  You came--that’s all I need for now.”

            Lord Elrond aided Bilbo onto the bed, where he lay close to Frodo on one side; Sam came to lie on the other side; Merry and Pippin arranged themselves on the outside, guards of honor, perhaps, to their beloved cousin.  Frodo looked at them, smiling once more.  “Merry mine, Pippin, my Sam, Uncle.”  He settled himself more comfortably, and the rest save for Lord Elrond and Eldamir left them to it.

 *******

            Merry was the first to awaken, and slipped quietly out of the bed to come out to join Aragorn where he sat in the reception room with his wife beside him, facing Elladan and Glorfindel.  Legolas stood near a window, looking out into the gardens, and Gimli sat where he could look easily from his friend to the rest of the company.  Glorfindel sat with a harp in his hands, plucking single notes from it.  Gandalf stood on the other side of the window out which Legolas peered, leaning on his staff.  The Lady Galadriel sat to one side, her eyes on her granddaughter.

            The Hobbit peered out the window.  “It’s what--a couple hours after midday?” he asked.

            “Yes, about that.  Is Frodo still sleeping comfortably?”

            “Yes, he seems to be.”

            Elladan said, “I’ve brought certain herbs that our adar wishes to use on him, as we hope that they will help him gather more strength and endurance as he considers what he will do.  I do think, however, that just your presence appears to have offered him the greatest easing.”

            “And no matter what,” Merry said softly, “we must lose him--either see him aboard the ship, or--or perhaps see him buried soon.”  As this was not truly a question, the others merely remained quiet.  At last he asked, “Has he been happy here, Strider?”

            “As happy as has been possible to him.  He has been one of my most beloved counselors.  All of those on the Council listen to him with deepest respect, and will actually follow his suggestions when they will question me.”  He looked up as Faramir came down the hallway with his wife on his arm, the two of them accompanied by Éomer.  “Ah, Faramir, Éowyn.  You’ve come in good time.”

            “He remains with us, then?” the Steward asked.

            Aragorn nodded.  “Yes, and he appears heartened to have those he loves by him.  Now he must decide what he will do.”

            Éowyn asked as she accepted a goblet poured for her by Arwen, “The ship, there at the docks--it has come for him?”

            “If he will agree to go.  I think he is still uncertain in his mind if he should accept this grace.”

            She nodded, and turned to greet Merry.  “Welcome, sword brother,” she said softly.  “I only grieve we must be reunited when you face this sorrow.”  She laid her hand on his shoulder.

            “I’m glad to have you beside me, my sister,” he answered her.  “It will hearten me to accept whatever comes.”

            “And if he goes, when he is fully healed, will he be able to return?” she continued.

            Aragorn shook his head.  “Nay--when the ship leaves, those who sail upon it will not be able to return to Middle Earth.  If he goes with them, he will not return again.  He will live--and in time--die there, but hopefully at the proper time for one of his kind, and not untimely as he will should he remain here.”

            “And you wish him to go?” she asked.

            “Of course I do not wish him to go,” Aragorn said.  “But it does not rest on my wish--we will lose his presence all too soon no matter what we should wish to have happen.  Let him be cleansed ere he leaves Arda of the pain and scars that the Ring has left him with, at least.”

            “And this is what you truly wish for me?” asked a voice from the hallway.

            All turned to see Frodo, wrapped in a dark blue robe over the nightshirt he’d been wearing, coming toward them, leaning heavily on Sam, Bilbo following, supported by Pippin.  Behind the Hobbits came Elrond and Eldamir, the Peredhel’s face solemn.

            Aragorn’s face showed equal parts grief and pride.  “Of course I must wish this for you, small brother.”

            Frodo entered the reception area and took a seat on a lower couch that had been placed there for his use, leaning back with obvious relief.  He looked at Arwen.  “My Lady Queen?” he asked.

            “I begged this grace for you that you know fulfillment and not need to end your life in regret and pain, Frodo.”

            He looked to the Dwarf.  “And you, Gimli?”

            Gimli cleared his throat and rubbed his chin.  “I’d rather this decision need not be made at all.  But since it must--I’d rather think of you able to be fully happy again, even if it must be so far away from those of us who love you so.”

            Frodo looked to Legolas in question.  The Elf sighed.  “It is the right place for you,” he said, “although I ought to say nothing, I suppose.  You cannot make this decision for our sakes, but for your own.”

            “But you will go there, one day.  The Sea Longing is strong in you.”

            “One day I will indeed take my own ship westward, but not until Aragorn has left Middle Earth.  And I pray that Gimli will accept the grace to accompany me when that day comes.  And it would bring me joy to know that you had been there and had seen what I see when I come.”

            Frodo gave a nod, and looked at Gandalf.  The Wizard shook his head.  “I may not speak to this,” he said.

            “Nor may we,” advised Galadriel with a flickering glance toward Elrond and Glorfindel.

            Bilbo looked his former ward directly in the eye.  “Well, I will speak to it.  I would have someone to share life there with, one who will see it with similar eyes.”

            Sam, who’d sat by Frodo, took his right hand.  “If’n you don’t go, then it’ll be the harder for me, when my own time comes.  I won’t come as long as Rosie is by me, and maybe it’ll end up as I’ll die afore her.  But there’s a part of me as won’t never be filled less’n I know as you’re able to be whole and happy.”

            Pippin’s eyes were fixed on Frodo’s.  “All I’ve ever wanted for you, Frodo, was for you to be safe and whole.”

            Merry came to stand before his cousin, and took his hand from Sam.  “I never wanted to leave you here, but I knew there was a better chance you’d find healing here than if you went back to the Shire with us, Frodo.  You’re too young to die--you’re only fifty-three years old today.  The Ring took so much from you--you deserve to be refilled once more, you know.  It would be the one birthday gift I’d want from you.”

            Éowyn said, “Whatever you choose, we will miss you very much.”

            The King of Rohan merely nodded his agreement with his sister.

            Faramir examined Gandalf’s face, then turned to Frodo.  “It is your decision; but aren’t you curious to know how it will all come out?  You will never know if you choose to remain and die.”

            At last Frodo looked at Eldamir, who shook his head sadly.  “I am a healer, born and bred, I suppose.  I must wish you see the chance to know healing, even if it is not my own gift or skill that brings it to you.”

            Frodo sighed, leaned his head back again, and closed his eyes.  At last he said, “And so the choice comes back in the end to me.”

            “Yes,” Aragorn agreed, “as it has been yours all through the time since the grace was granted.”  He accepted a smaller goblet poured out by Arwen and pressed it into Frodo’s hand. 

            Frodo sipped from it, then handed it back.  At last he looked at Pippin.  “Did you bring all the documents Brendi got ready for me?”

            The others looked curiously at the Took, who studiously fixed his attention on Frodo.  “Yes, I did.  Lobelia’s will left Bag End to you directly, along with most of her other property as well, the rest to make reparations for the damage Lotho’s actions caused.  Brendi’s set up a trust to hold the money and property, and under Merimac has set up a committee to examine claims and see to it they are properly dealt with.  He saw to it your will was written as you’d directed, and has made certain with Will Whitfoot, Old Bernigard, and the Thain that Merry, Sam, and Bilbo may sign as witnesses, along with whomever else you might ask from here in Minas Tirith.  And he has the other papers you asked for written as well.  They’re all in my pack.”

            Frodo took a deep breath and held it, then let it out.  “It appears,” he said quietly, “that I have some reviewing and signing to do.  Faramir, would you assist me with it?  I think you would understand it best....”

            So saying, he rose, assisted by Sam, and then retired to his room, accompanied by the Steward of Gondor and Pippin, who went to fetch a large bundle of documents and travel ink bottles from his pack and took it all into Frodo’s room.

            A meal was brought to the Royal Wing for those gathered there, and Arwen bore a platter for Frodo and Faramir into the bedchamber.  After a time Faramir came out, the concern he felt not completely schooled out of his face, to request Elrond come in.  Elrond indicated Elladan should go with him, and they disappeared down the hallway.  Soon after, the younger Peredhel came out again and beckoned Aragorn to accompany him to the small kitchen for the wing.  When the King returned to the reception area his eyes were troubled.  “He felt more pain, although they will not say whether or not it was indeed another seizure of his heart.  Adar had Elladan prepare a draught for him--quite a powerful one and one I’ve never been able to properly reproduce.”

            Two hours before sunset Faramir came to call the others into the room.  Elladan was moving stacks of papers onto a small table while Elrond felt the pulse at the Hobbit’s throat.  “Your heart is stable, Iorhael,” Elrond said quietly, removing his fingers and turning toward the tumbler sitting on the nearby table.

            Frodo nodded.  “It’s been some time,” he murmured, “since I’ve done such a concentrated study.”  He accepted the mug and drank from it.  “This is not as bad as some of the draughts I’ve had to drink,” he commented.

            “Nay, it is not as bad to the taste as many, although it is not good to use this for any prolonged period of time.  But as you needed to finish a fair amount of work quickly, this was called for, I thought.”

            “I thank you, my lord,” Frodo said as he lay back again.  He gestured to the table.  “Sam, there are a few documents there you cannot witness as they concern you specifically, although I do wish for you to serve as witness to the codicil I wrote regarding my will--there are two young Bagginses who were orphaned some time ago that I must plan for, should a time come when their current fostering situation becomes untenable.  I’d thought to take them into my house and make them my wards, perhaps adopt them as my heirs as Bilbo did me, once I returned home--but as I never returned home....”

            Bilbo examined the younger Baggins with interest.  “Two more Bagginses?  And who were they?”  Then he paused.  “You don’t mean Dudo and Emerald...?”

            Frodo smiled.  “Two years after you left the Shire.  But it’s a long tale, Bilbo, and a rather sad one, I suppose, and irrelevant to what needs to be done now.”

            Merry, Pippin, and Bilbo sat down at the table and began reading the documents while Sam sat by the bed, holding Frodo’s hand.  Frodo’s eyes were closed, and the Lady Arwen brought a cool, damp cloth to put over his brow while the various documents were dealt with.  At one point Frodo said, “I hope, Merry, you don’t mind being appointed my proxy.  I’ve used both your dad and Cousin Mac as such in the past, and your father has been my primary proxy since I left the Shire.”

            Merry nodded.  “Yes, he told me, Frodo.  He said he took great pleasure in telling that to Markos Smallburrow when he came as Lotho’s representative to present the scheme for gathering and sharing he’d come up with to steal as much as he could from everyone.”

            Aragorn, where he sat in one of the few taller chairs present at the table so as to better sign the documents when needed, looked up with interest.  “Gathering and sharing?  What is this?”

            Sam explained what they’d found when they arrived back in the Shire, and how “gathering and sharing” extra foodstuffs and other goods had been used as an excuse for plundering holes and impoverishing the Shirefolk.  “Much of what they took was found in the deeper storage holes in Michel Delving or the quarries in the Brockenbores or on some o’ Lotho’s properties here and there throughout the Shire.  The upper storage rooms they used as a prison of sorts for those Hobbits as stood up to Lotho.  Will Whitfoot we found in one; and Mr. Freddy, your cousin Fredegar Bolger, Mr. Frodo--you wouldn’t believe as what he was like when we found him--thin as a lath, he was, and quite ill.  He’s a partial invalid now--not well at all, he isn’t--left his heart weak, too.  And old Missus Lobelia!  Even she was locked up there by the Big Men--better shape than most as was found there, maybe; but then she’d only been there about a month when we found her.  Don’t think as Lotho was dead yet when they took her, but no question as Sharkey was givin’ the orders by that time.

            “After they begun to find wheres the Big Men had hid the extra food and grain as they’d took, Gordo tried to see as it got out to folks; but he’d send it off all over the place to this village or that with no plan as to what was best.  Good deal of it got spoilt, sendin’ it off in open wagons just afore it started rainin’, and most of it seems to of got no further’n Michel Delving isself.  I arranged to have many holes redug and houses rebuilt, although Gordolac sometimes thought of it as me takin’ responsibility as was his, and he’d interfere at times.  Will finally told him to stop, but your cousins Folco and Ivy--they was havin’ to live in an old hand’s hole on their farm for over a year afore we got a new place built for them.

            “We’re not certain as what led Missus Lobelia to leave Bag End to you, and certainly that Bartolo Bracegirdle as was her nephew and lawyer was anythin’ but happy it was--wanted it for himself, I suspect.”

            Frodo nodded thoughtfully.  “He’s a difficult one, but was always honest as the day was long.”

            Sam gave a small shrug, obviously not wishing to argue the point.  “We’ve done our best to redo the hole, but it’s not quite as it was, of course.  And most of your furniture an’ all is back now, just in case....”

            Frodo looked at him sadly.  “Dear old Bag End,” he murmured.  “And I’ll now never see what you did with it.  It shouldn’t remain empty, you know.”  He looked sideways at Pippin, who’d just had Aragorn sign one of the papers with the red ink.  “Is that one finished, Pip?”  At the young Took’s nod, he closed his eyes briefly as he straightened.  “Good.  And what do I have to do again?”

            “A coin....”

            “A coin.  I see.”  He turned back to Sam.  “Sam, do you have a coin?”

            Confused, Sam delved into his pocket, finally bringing out a copper, and giving it to Frodo.  Frodo held it tightly in his hand and smiled.  “There--it’s done.  Give it to him, please, Pippin.”

            Peregrin Took brought the documents Aragorn had just signed over and placed them in Sam’s hands.  “Mr. Gamgee, you are now the proud owner of Bag End in Hobbiton.”

            Sam sat, shocked.  “But....”

            Frodo added, “And you are my primary heir.  Young Fosco will be the Baggins after me, considering what you’ve all told me of the health of Ponto--he’ll not be up to it, and Iris wouldn’t accept it if he can’t.  Fosco will have to do family business under Will, I suppose, but with his sister’s help he’ll do well enough.  But you, Sam, are the one who will--who will always be what I haven’t been and can’t be now.  And I swore in one way or another--one way or another, I’d give you Bag End’s gardens for your own.  And now I have.”

            Sam looked at his Master, his eyes filled with both joy and dismay, grief and delight.  “You want me to have it?”

            “You and your Rosie--and Elanor and Frodo-lad to come, and Rosie-lass, and all the rest who’ll follow after.  You’ll be the most famous gardener in the whole of the Shire’s history, and Mayor as many times as you wish.  It wouldn’t have been home to me if it hadn’t been for you and the Gaffer, you know.  And when you get home, Merry will be seeing to it that the holes along the Row go to their residents.  So, the Gaffer will be the owner of Number Three.  And with the King himself as the one to countersign to the change in title, I doubt anyone--will give you any grief about it.”

            Sam was weeping now, standing and leaning over the bed, and Frodo was reaching up to draw his head down to lie on his breast.  “Oh, my Sam,” the older Hobbit was saying, “my Sam.  Be happy for me--I’ve chosen to go, Sam.  Be happy for me, and it may be--one day--we’ll see one another again.”  Frodo was also weeping, and at last his hands fell away.  He lay back against the cushions that supported his torso, breathing deeply and holding the Queen’s gem.  Aragorn arose and stood over him, lifted his other hand to touch it to the Elessar brooch he wore, and in time Frodo calmed, some color returning to his face.  He relaxed now, smiling slightly, his eyes still closed.  “Tall brother,” he murmured.

            “We’re all here for you, Frodo,” Aragorn said softly, and Frodo squeezed his hand.

The Farewell in Gondor

IV

             “But we still don’t know if they’ll return----” Saradoc Brandybuck began.

            The Thain of the Shire looked up as Isumbard opened the door to his office after the most cursory of knocks.  “What is it that can’t wait, Bard?” he asked.  “I’m in conference with the Mayor and the Master, after all.”

            Bard was clearly suppressing a good deal of excitement.  “Pippin’s back, sir,” he said, “Pippin and Merry both, along with Sam Gamgee and--and several Men and a couple Elves.”

            The Hobbits in the room stood up in shock.  “Men?!  Men, here at the Great Smial?” demanded Paladin Took.

            “Yes--and one appears to be--one appears to be the King himself!”

            All stiffened where they stood.  At last Saradoc Brandybuck exchanged looks with his brother Merimac before turning again to examine Isumbard’s face.  “The King himself?”

            Bard nodded.  “Says he came on Frodo’s behalf.”

            “Frodo?  He’s not come, too, has he?”  Sara’s voice was filled with barely contained hope.

            But now the tall Hobbit lawyer and Paladin’s aide was shaking his head.  “No, he didn’t come with them.”  He glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head.  “No, he couldn’t fit in here.  Shall I take him to the private dining room, do you think, Pal?  He could sit comfortably in there, I think.  He’s quite the tallest Man I’ve ever seen.”

            Will Whitfoot fell back into his chair, clutching his cane to his chest.  “Men in the Shire again!” he said softly to himself.

            It was several moments before those who’d been in conference with Paladin Took came to the dining room.  Apparently one of those who kept inventory on the old mathom rooms had unearthed at least one of the chairs the Old Took had seen made for when his friend Gandalf came to visit and had brought it there, and on it sat indeed the tallest Man Paladin Took had ever seen, his grey eyes clear and filled with command, a circlet with a single bright gem about his forehead, his dark hair lying upon his shoulders.  He didn’t rise as the Hobbits entered, and Pal was rather glad he didn’t, as imposing as he was just sitting down.

            “But I’ve seen you before,” Sara was saying, “riding through the Shire, and once in Bree.”

            The King turned to look at him, and then smiled, and the stern expression lifted.  It was as if the Sun herself had somehow peered into the room, and as if the stars were shining there also.  “Yes,” he said, “you may well have done, for I was one of those who protected this region of Eriador and patrolled your borders.  Master Saradoc?”

            It was then that Paladin registered the others who stood about the Man--another Man, broader in the chest than the King, who appeared perhaps of an age or slightly older; two more Men, one with a black glove upon his right hand, whose sword hung upon his right hip rather than his left, and the other a young Man with a great hound sitting by him.  Then there were two Elves, one golden haired while the second had hair slightly darker than the King’s own and grey eyes to match; and a Dwarf whose hair and beard were totally white, his face filled with authority.

            “Let me introduce my companions--my cousin Halladan son of Halbaleg, my Steward here in Arnor; and his aides Gilfileg son of Gilthor and Eregiel son of Miringlor, both of them also my kinsmen.  My foster brother Elrohir Elrondion, and Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.  And this is Lord Gloin of Erebor, the Blue Mountains, and the Iron Hills--his son Gimli was one of our companions when your sons went south with Frodo and myself to rid Middle Earth of Sauron’s Ring.”

            The door opened behind them, and Pippin, Merry, and Sam entered carrying some taller stools more in keeping with the stature of the other Men and the two Elves.  Pippin stopped, somewhat warily, and eyed his father before turning purposefully to bring the stool he carried to the area where the guests waited.  Hillie and Everard entered carrying more stools, and Pippin, having surrendered the one he’d brought to the Elf the King had identified as Elrohir, now was drawing a chair out for the elderly Dwarf.

            At last Merry turned to face his father.  “You’ve told the Thain what was told you when Gandalf and Lord Elladan came to fetch Pippin and me, Dad?” he asked.

            “Yes.  You left him in the King’s city, then?”  The disappointment in the Master’s eyes was clear.

            Merry paused, then shook his head.  “Not exactly.  He’s left Middle Earth.  No,” he added hastily, cutting off the sob his father almost let escape, “he’s not dead--or wasn’t when we last saw him.  He’s gone to the Elven lands with Bilbo and the great Elves--and Gandalf.  That grace was granted him in light of the service he gave us all by taking Sauron’s Ring to Mordor to its destruction.”

            The King now spoke.  “His last request of me was that I have Halladan come speak to you to convince you of the truth of your sons’ reports, for to think of you, Thain Paladin, not accepting what Pippin has tried to tell you has about torn his heart out of him.  In the end, once the ship bearing him and Bilbo and my adar and the others set sail back down the Anduin, it was decided perhaps I myself should return with these to speak with you.  My beloved wife and Steward can see to the needs of Gondor while I must be gone; but I am King of Arnor as well as Gondor now, and you are as much my subjects as are the citizens of the southern kingdom.  Are your lady wives here?  Perhaps it would be best to call them here that you all hear what I have to say.”

            Shortly afterwards Esmeralda Brandybuck, Eglantine Took, Mina Whitfoot, Fredegar and Estella Bolger, and a few others came into the room and took places about the table or on chairs from the side of the chamber, followed by still more who brought trays of food and drink to set upon the table, withdrawing uncertainly, each craning to see the great Man it was said was their new King before they left.  Outside in the corridor, even through the now closed door, they could hear the buzz of excited talk as those who could stood outside the Thain’s private dining chamber, hoping to learn more when it was possible.

            Again the guests were introduced, and the Hobbits introduced themselves.  Pippin’s sisters were there with their husbands and children, and all now sat quietly to hear what the King had to say.

            Before the King, there on the end of the table, lay a number of documents and a couple of books.  “Shortly after Frodo agreed to remain in the south with my wife and me, Bilbo forwarded this to Frodo, asking him to write down the story of our journey for him.  He did so, and I now bring it to you.  He indicated he wished for Sam to complete the final chapters that he’d not been able to write.”  He held up a great red volume and indicated it should be passed to the Thain.  “The first part was written by Bilbo himself, taken from his memories and journals, and tells of his journey to Erebor with Gandalf and Lord Gloin here and of the defeat of Smaug and--and the finding of the Ring beneath the Misty Mountains.  I am told the story is much as you have heard it, although undoubtedly far grimmer than the way in which he’s told it to you before.  Having seen the great spiders of Mirkwood myself, I can assure you they were of a vicious nature, second only to the nature of the orcs--or goblins--he escaped from and later faced there at Erebor. 

            “The Ring Bilbo brought back here in his pocket, as he has told me himself, and I doubt any of you save Merry saw it while he remained here in the Shire.  Gandalf had always questioned the nature of this ring, but it wasn’t until his last visit to Bag End he finally knew the way to test it to find out for certain.  To realize first Bilbo and then Frodo had been carrying Sauron’s own Ring of Power in their pockets all these years--it was almost more than he could bear.  Know this--Gandalf has come to greatly honor and love your folk, many of whom he’s known since your ancestors first came west from the valley of the Anduin to settle here in Eriador.  And his memories of his friendship with your great Grandfather Gerontius have always heartened him when he’s found Elves, Men, and Dwarves less than willing to work together to face the Enemy.

            “I saw the Ring first there in Imladris--Rivendell, when Frodo brought It out to show to the Council.  That Frodo managed to bring It that far and remain free of Its influence amazed us all.  It had sought to betray him all along the way, coaxing him again and again to put It on so It could make Itself plain to the Enemy’s Black Riders here in the Shire, in Bree, and along the road eastward when we traveled together.  It even slipped Itself onto his finger in Bree when he refused to do so voluntarily.  He almost suffered worse than death when he was wounded by the wraiths with a Morgul blade.  We reached my adar’s aid only just in time to save him.

            “Perhaps it would have been easier to believe and understand how deeply he’d been wounded had you seen him.  He’d lost about half his weight when we reached Rivendell, and he never quite regained that afterwards.”

            “They were all three thinner when they got back,” commented Merimac.

            “Well, you go about walkin’ all across Middle Earth and then ridin’ back again, you’d be thinner also,” Sam commented.  “But my Master--he lost far more than we ever did.”

            There was another knock at the door, and Pimpernel rose to open it, admitting Rosie Gamgee and another Elf.

            “This Elf come,” she said, indicating the twin to the dark-haired Elf who sat near the King, “sayin’ as my Sam’s back and here and as I needed to come to him now.  He brought me and our Elanor.”

            Sam gave a wordless cry of joy, and hurried to his wife’s side, sweeping her into his arms.

            “Le hannon, Elladan,” the King said to the Elf.  “Sirs, mistresses, this is my other foster brother, Elladan Elrondion.”  The Elf approached the King and laid in his hands the small Hobbit child he carried.  “And this is Elanor?” he asked, looking upwards.  At the answering nod he looked back down, his eyes tender.  “So, this is Sam’s firstborn, and Frodo’s so beloved niece of the heart.”  He kissed the child gently on the forehead.  “This is from your uncle, little one,” he whispered.  “He so mourned he’d never see you.”

            At last he reluctantly surrendered the infant to the hungry arms of her father, once he’d seen his wife seated in his place and then come to reclaim his daughter.  “Ah, little Ellie,” he was murmuring as he held her.  “I told him all about you, I did, as we walked down through the city to the coach at the gates.”

            “Frodo survived the seizure of his heart, then?” asked Esmeralda.

            “Yes, although he didn’t recover fully from it.  We only hope that he will do so as a result of this journey.”

            “Why did he need to go away?” asked Mina Whitfoot.

            “We begged this grace for him, considering what the Ring stole from him as he saw It to Mordor.  It left him feeling scarred and emptied as well as weakened; and his wounded shoulder, heart, and stomach particularly never fully recovered.  When the memories of what all he’d been through began returning to him that first fall, he was badly weakened, and again during the spring.  He would always try to hide how the return of the memories hit him, but couldn’t do so effectively.

            “Know this, Mistress Whitfoot, Frodo there will have the chance to have body, mind, and spirit all cleansed of the wounds left by the bearing of the Ring and the journey he accepted.  His heart can be healed as it cannot here.  He can come to understand fully how the journey has changed him, and not only what he lost, but more important what he gained by doing what he’s done.  He can again know joy unbridled, the peace he has earned, beauty beyond what we can know here.  But he’s not the only one who paid deeply for accepting the responsibility to see all of Middle Earth protected.  Sam, Merry, and Pippin also nearly died to see us all remain safe.”

            He looked to Merry.  “Perhaps you need to speak first, and tell them how it was you became aware of the Ring and then the danger It posed.”

            So Merry told of the Conspiracy and why he’d recruited Sam and Freddy, and why he’d decided against involving Folco Boffin.

            “I saw that Merry was planning something,” Pippin said when a lull came in his cousin’s story, “and I refused to be left out.  I spied on him until I’d found out most of the details, and then let him know that there was no way he was going to leave the Shire with Frodo and not take me.  I had to threaten to tell Da to get him to agree, though.  Then Gandalf came back, and we found out that Frodo was really going this time, and that the Ring was far more than we’d ever thought--and I informed them all they’d best not try to leave me behind for I’d follow them no matter what.”

            “So that was why you purchased those ponies and moved them to the pasture near Crickhollow,” said Saradoc.

            Merry raised his head proudly.  “Yes, sir, it was.  The ponies were run off in Bree, although they’re back there now.  Mr. Butterbur paid for them when they went lost, and so I left them with him.  He uses them well, and I certainly don’t need them now.”

            Pippin briefly described the journey from Bag End to Bree, and then to Weathertop.  The King told of the facing of the Ringwraiths there and how Frodo was wounded.  Sam told of the trip to Rivendell and the long vigil as the wound was probed twice and the shard finally removed.

            Glorfindel described the Council of Elrond and the debates as to who should accompany the Ringbearer to Mordor.  “Gandalf surprised us all by arguing for these two to be allowed to be among the Fellowship, saying only he felt their presence would prove invaluable.  In the end Elrond agreed, but against his better judgment.  He felt it might have been better had they returned here, having had foresight of the dangers the Shire faced.  In the end, however, the love of Meriadoc and Peregrin for Frodo convinced him, as we all realized that there was no way in which we could keep them from following after Frodo and as we saw how just their presence helped him keep up his own defenses against the Ring’s persuasions.”

            “And it proved good they did come.”  Aragorn’s voice was thoughtful.  “Had they not, the Ents of Fangorn and their Huorns would probably not have moved on Isengard and come to see the end of Saruman’s orcs at the Battle of Helm’s Deep.  Nor would Merry have been there to aid the Lady Éowyn in the destruction of the Witch-king of Angmar, nor would my Steward Faramir have survived his father’s last madness.  And there before the Black Gate Pippin saved the lives of at least three others, and probably more, as he killed the great troll who charged their formation.  As for whether or not Frodo would have awakened in Ithilien had these two not been there to speak to him and Sam as they lay in the healing sleep I laid upon them--I have wondered that many times.”

            “Why did Frodo have to be placed in a healing sleep?” Paladin Took asked, finally.

            “We was both almost dead once the Ring went into the Fire,” Sam explained, and he briefly described the journey once they’d separated from the rest and the encounter with Shelob.

            “This--this spider poisoned him?” demanded Eglantine, totally shocked out of her dogged disbelief.

            “I was certain as he was dead,” Sam said, his face blank with the memory of that great grief.  He took a deep breath as he described the rescue of Frodo and the last of the dread journey through Mordor itself.

            He accepted a glass of wine Merry poured for him and drank it down before telling of the last fight with Gollum, and the blow he’d received within the chamber carved out of the mountain itself, and that eerie struggle he’d witnessed, ending with Gollum biting off Frodo’s finger and then falling with the Ring into the chasm to the destruction of both.

            “I carried him out, and he woke enough to crawl with me onto a bit of a heap of ash.  We thought as it was the end, and we held hands as the heat and poison of the air took us.”

            “That was how they were found by Gandalf and the Eagles.  They were so very close to death, closer than any I’d ever called back before, even closer than Faramir had been.”  Again all eyes were fixed on the King.  “After Merry arrived from Minas Tirith he sat equally by them and by Pippin; and once Pippin could bear being moved he would spend time with them, also, talking and singing to them, helping to keep them anchored.  And at last they awoke, and appeared to recover.”

            Pippin swallowed.  “But Frodo wasn’t recovering properly, and at last I decided he should stay there in Gondor, there in Minas Tirith with Aragorn.  I convinced Merry and Sam, and we all convinced Frodo.  I don’t think now that it was such a good idea.  I think he’d have done better to come home with us.  Maybe he’d still have needed to leave Middle Earth in the end, but I suspect everything would have turned out better had he come with us.”

            Esmeralda Brandybuck asked, “Was he happy there, with you?”

            Aragorn answered her, “Mostly, but his heart still belonged to the Shire.  We finally coaxed him into accepting the room we’d prepared for him within the Royal Wing of the Citadel, but he hated being there with so many about him at all times.  I now see how private of an individual he’d been for most of his life.  The housekeeper and page who’d served the guesthouse where the rest of the Fellowship stayed were among the few he’d allow to visit with him regularly, and I made them his only permanent attendants.  They are both heartbroken to have seen him go, although both admit they are glad he finally decided to accept the grace.”

            “What was it like, when he decided?” asked Fredegar Bolger.

            Elladan told them of the day they’d arrived, and of the attack of pain he’d known in the afternoon as he completed the review of the documents brought to him by Pippin.  “It was not a full seizure of his heart, but was nearly that.  My adar had me prepare a draught that is one only he seems fully able to see work properly, one intended to give him strength and endurance for the last he needed to see done.  Under its influence he finished what he had to do, and he rested as the documents were examined and signed.”  He indicated the stack of documents that lay there.  “As Peregrin Took is now a captain of the Guard of the Citadel within Gondor and serves as one of the Guards on the King’s person, and as he has demonstrated many times over he is able to meet the expectations placed on a Man of the Realm, our muindor here instructed he was to sign as one of the witnesses to Frodo’s signature and intentions.  Adar, Éomer King of Rohan, and Prince Faramir also signed most of the instruments, along with Glorfindel for those where Lord Samwise could not sign them.  And Estel here saw them all registered within the annals of Gondor, and now would see them registered here within the Shire as well.”

            Merry went on, “After he saw Bag End conveyed to Sam and Rosie, Frodo held Sam for a bit and said how glad he was Sam was now Master of the Hill, and that he’d chosen to accept the grace offered him.  Then he knew another smaller attack, I think, and lay back as Aragorn saw to his easing.  Last thing he said was 'tall brother,' and then he was quiet.

            “Sam and Lasgon saw him dressed.  They brought a litter, and Aragorn gently lifted him onto it, wrapping him warmly.  It was wide enough that Bilbo could lie beside him, and Bilbo held his hand as they carried him out.  Sam walked by him and held his other hand, and all down through the city he told Frodo of how happy he’d been to see the Shire rebuilt, and to be married to Rosie, and all about Elanor and life on the Row and how he’d seen Bag End restored and its gardens again blooming, and Frodo smiled but said nothing.

            “They had a great carriage waiting at the bottom, and again Aragorn lifted him into it to sit between Lord Elrond and Sam with the Lady and Bilbo opposite him, and we all rode behind across the Pelennor to the quays of the Harlond.  I think that Elrond gave him miruvor and lembas during the ride.  When we arrived, he--seemed more present.  He hugged us each, and kissed us each as they led Gandalf’s horse aboard and down into the holds.  He held Sam the longest, and gave him a kiss of blessing.  It was then it truly hit me that Gandalf was leaving, too, as he bade us all farewell and spoke of the end of our Fellowship.  Then Frodo walked--alone--to the plank, took Gandalf’s hand, and went aboard.  The Elves were singing a hymn to Ulmo, I think.  Aragorn gave Frodo’s saddlebags to the Lady.  Frodo had brought his starglass that the Lady had given him in Lorien, and he held it up for us to see as long as we could see the grey ship upon the river.

            “All the way down through the city....”  But he couldn’t finish for his tears.  His father approached him and held him close, his own tears falling unheeded.

            Pippin finally continued, “The people of the city had always been polite to us, and almost worshipful of Frodo and Sam.  They came out to see him go, and they brought flowers and sprays of greenery and--and candles.  The Elves and Gimli and we accepted them for Frodo and Bilbo, and the sailors on the ship took them from the carriage.  The folk of Minas Tirith were weeping to see Frodo leave them--they’ve come to love him so much!  And those of Aragorn’s counselors who were present in the city accompanied us down through the gates and across to the Harlond.

            “I don’t know how long the draught Lord Elrond gave him would last, but he managed to make it onto the ship and far down the river without lowering the starglass.  He did have Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf there by him, however, and I believe Erestor and Gildor Inglorion were aboard the ship as well, and probably others I’ve met.  If anyone could help Frodo make it to the Undying Lands, they can.”

            Paladin was looking at his son.  “How long did you remain there, there in Gondor?”

            “We stayed two nights in Minas Tirith and then set off for home again.  We took it more easily, but not much so.  We were met by Lord Elrohir’s party three nights ago; they were to have followed us, but at the word Aragorn returned with us they came only as far as the Shire.  They had a pavilion and heated water for bathing not far from the Sarn Ford.  We crossed over and have ridden pretty straight through the Shire until we got here.  We’re all rather tired, and would appreciate another good bathe, I think.”

            The Thain nodded, then looked back at the King.  “And you came--to make certain that we believe?”

            “Yes.  I myself wished to see to it that Frodo’s wish is met.”

            “Sun and moon!” whispered Paladin Took.  “What fools we’ve been, Lanti.”  At her nod, he returned his attention to their son.  “Can you forgive us, Pippin?”

            The first, rather watery, smile they’d seen on Pippin’s face that day lit his expression.  “Oh, Da!” was his answer as, forgetting his dignity as one of the King’s own Guard, he hurried to throw his arms about the two of them.

The Farewell in Gondor

Epilogue

            On his birthday Sam, Elanor in his arms, went down the hill from Bag End to the Party Field to examine the mallorn tree that grew there.  Its buds had opened that morning, and he smiled in delight to examine the golden blossoms—then paused as he realized that he was stepping over blossoms of elanor and niphredil.  There was the sound of hooves on the lane, and he turned to see Merry and Pippin riding toward him.  They turned their ponies off the lane into the field and dismounted, pausing to look on the tree, their expressions alight with pleasure.

            “How big it’s grown!” Pippin murmured, and he, too, stepped through the burgeoning blossoms of elanor and niphredil to stand by the gardener, his eyes shining. 

Merry let his reins drop and followed Pippin to stand on Sam’s other side.  “An Elven tree, surrounded by Elven flowers,” he commented.  “How Frodo would have loved it!”

The others nodded.  “So he would,” Sam agreed.  “That he would indeed.”  Shifting Elanor to his left arm, he started to reach out to touch the stem of the tree when they heard Rosie calling from above.

            “Sam—are you there, dearling?”

            “Yes, lovey!  Come and see!  It’s ever so beautiful!”

            “Tree?” asked Elanor.

            “Ay, my sweetling—a tree indeed.  A mallorn tree from Lorien, a gift from the Lady herself, it was.  And here it blooms, the one such tree between the Sea and the Misty Mountains.”  Again he reached out as he heard the creak of the picket gate as Rosie came to join them, and gently he stroked the fine silver bark with one finger----

            ----and stopped, his face gone still with shock.

 ***

            Each morning the King Aragorn Elessar would pause by the White Tree as he returned toward the Citadel from his visit to the Houses of Healing where he labored alongside the healers amongst those who were brought there to recover from wounds and illness.  This morning he’d helped save the life of a child who’d swallowed a coin that had partially blocked the airway.  Had it been sucked further down toward the lungs she would undoubtedly have died—he was able to force her to cough it up and had seen her throat soothed, and then had ordered observation for a day at least to make certain she did not develop an infection.  He was grateful for the grace accorded the child through him, and paused to smile at the symbol of Gondor, shining in the sunlight.

            Ah, its buds had opened in the night, and circles of white blossoms shown here and there amongst its green leaves.  His smile widened, and did so the more as he was joined by his beloved wife.

            “Oh, Estel—how lovely it is!” she breathed, her eyes reflecting its glory.  “How Frodo would have rejoiced to see it.”

            The King’s joy softened, as he reached to touch its trunk in greeting.  “How he would, my heart,” he began, then paused.

 ***

            Beneath the White Tree of Tol Eressëa Bilbo led Frodo, only recently returned from the Fanes on the west coast of the Island, to sit against the trunk.  “Here, my lad—it’s so beautiful here since the blooms opened this morning.  Rest and be eased, my dear boy.”

            “Bilbo—I’m much better, as you well know.  When will you stop cosseting me as if I were made of spun glass and likely to shatter if given a hard knock?”

            “You’re right, Frodo my lad.  Ah, but it’s been a difficult go of it, though, and there were times I was afraid you would be there to welcome me when by rights it ought to be the other way around.  And I’m so grateful that it will be the right way around after all.  To see you restored has been so much a blessing for me, you know.”

            “I only grieve you intend to go now just when I’m of a mood to truly ramble about and explore at last.”

            “Frodo Baggins—I’m not going just this moment, you know—we’ll have one or two rambles together first, I promise.  But I am quite the oldest Hobbit there’s been, I suspect, and I know it’s now finally time.  I’m grateful to know this grace and to see you able to be fully happy once more.  Oh, but breathe in the perfume of the blossoms, Frodo!”

            Frodo smiled at his Uncle and leaned his head back against the trunk, his eyes closing as he did just that----

 ***

            Frodo?  Frodo!

            Small brother—are you there?

            Master!  Oh, my beloved Master!

            Merry mine!  Pippin!  Aragorn!  My Sam!  But who else is there?

            Aragorn beckoned to his wife even as Sam turned a glowing, tear-streaked face toward Rosie.  “Come and see!” they urged gently. 

            As Rosie, confused, touched her hand to the trunk at Sam’s unspoken invitation, the gardener came closer himself and guided his daughter’s hand to lie by that of her mother. 

            Here, Mr. Frodo, sir—I want you to meet your niece.

             Bilbo saw the signs of communion granted, and how brightly his star-kissed lad shone in the gladness of the moment.

Author’s Notes

            At least this time I recognized this was indeed a small nuzgul, in spite of the ears it had put on.  Had Frodo decided--or been convinced (or browbeaten) to remain in Minas Tirith with Aragorn, what would have his life become?  Would he have still gone to Tol Eressëa when the time came?  Under what circumstances?  Would the anniversaries of his worst woundings have plagued him as badly?

            How would the return of the other Travelers have gone, without Frodo to temper their anger and desire for victory against Sharkey’s army of brigands and half-orcs?  And what would have occurred in that last confrontation with smug Saruman on the steps of Bag End?

            I doubt many things would have gone as well, and that the lack of Frodo’s competence and attention to detail would have led to less efficiency during the recovery of the Shire.  Would Sam have indeed married Rosie?  Yes, I do believe he would have done so, and perhaps even earlier than in the original.  But it only makes sense they would have moved into the refurbished Number Three with the Gaffer rather than into Bag End, which was more likely to remain empty until there was a certainty that its absent Master would never return to it--at which time, if Frodo didn’t make some provision for it the grand smial would undoubtedly have become a bone of contention and quarreling within the Shire; and I’m not eager somehow to write that story.

            That there would be more children born with the fair hair of the Fallohides after the return of the three Travelers and the blessing of the Shire with the dust from Galadriel’s garden is still likely; but without the blessing of the presence of the Ringbearer himself, the question remains as to whether or not the full gift would have been granted of so many truly blond children.  If Frodo was not made deputy Mayor, then the question remains who would stand in for Will until the Mayor was ready to take back his seat in the Council Hole--and here I have his nephew Gordolac doing it, and somewhat botching up the job.  Certainly I don’t think that someone who failed to see to it food found in the Men’s caches was properly distributed throughout the Shire would have been elected at the Free Fair to take the role permanently; and others would find themselves doing what was necessary to see to it seized possessions found here and there throughout the Shire would have been properly returned.  I don’t believe that Lobelia would have returned to Bag End under any circumstances; and if she knew that Frodo remained alive, even if he didn’t return home I suspect she’d have still left it to him.  Whether or not she’d have given the rest of her possessions to offer reparations is perhaps more problematical; but if she still ended up in the Lockholes herself that I do believe her empathy for all others who lost so much during the occupation would have been stirred at last, and I think she’d have reacted similarly even if Frodo didn’t return.

            Certainly if he remained in Minas Tirith he could only have become a most beloved citizen of the city, I’d think; and when they learned he might be dying all would have rallied to send him their communal love, and then to see him that last time as he left them forever.  Their city and nation would not have stood had Frodo not done what he did, after all, and they would not have known the Return of the King; and his wisdom and gentle nature would have won their love and loyalty.

            I so hope that this story, as short and gentle as it is, has managed to spark your own imagination.  Now, to return to the other stories once again--I MAY finish them yet!  Heh!

And I dedicate this to my sister--may she, like Lobelia, know a new heart as she faces what remains to us.