DISCLAIMER:  Of course.  The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

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Notes for Chapter 1:  There are quotes in this chapter taken directly from “The Return of the King” by J.R.R. Tolkien.  Many thanks to Baylor for helping me with the timeline for the Changing of the World (when the seas became bent, the world became round, and the Undying Lands were removed from the reach of mortals).

“In the mountains the Eagles shall house, and hear the voices of those who call upon us.”  Manwë, The Silmarillion

SING ME HOME

Chapter 1 -- Evenstar

“But in my stead you shall go, Ring-bearer, when the time comes, and if you then desire it.  If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West, until all your wounds and weariness are healed.”

It was a kind thing to say, and Frodo, standing before the King and Queen in the Courtyard of the White Tree of Minas Tirith, wished with all his heart that such an impossibility was truly an option for him.

"Lady," he said sadly, "mortals may not sail there."

"That is so," said Arwen quietly, "and yet I do not make this offer in jest.  Immortality in the Blessed Realm is not a gift any may convey on one of the Secondborn; yet rest and healing for a gentle spirit, harmed in service selfless and true, is granted to you, Frodo -- if you wish it, and find not these things upon returning to your home.  It is a long voyage, I hear, but..." Arwen smiled.  "...you are no stranger to great journeys."

“How would such a thing be possible?”

“Come, sit with us.”  Frodo seated himself on the ornate bench between Aragorn and his queen.

“He who is closest to Ilúvatar, in thought and purpose, is Manwë,” said Arwen.  “Do you know of him?”

“Yes,” answered Frodo.  “Bilbo taught me about the Valar and the Ainur, and I heard many songs in your father’s house.”

Arwen nodded.  “And do you know how it is that Manwë knows what is occurring in Middle-earth?”

Frodo shook his head, puzzled.  “These matters are beyond my knowledge.”

“The great eagles are his messengers, Frodo,” continued Arwen.  “Mithrandir sensed, even before you awoke, that you may have taken a hurt that even your sweet Shire could not heal.  As you and Samwise lay in sleep, he charged the noble Gwaihir to convey a request to Manwë.  Such a thing is unprecedented, and we who came to know of it did not hope greatly, even to receive an answer at all.”

“A… a request?”

“Frodo,” said Aragorn, “Gandalf sent a message, asking that the way to the Blessed Realm be opened to you, should you need such healing and peace as it can bestow.”

“Gandalf…” Frodo could scarcely believe what he was hearing.  “…did that… for me?”

Arwen nodded.  “The lord of eagles returned, and spoke long with Mithrandir.  You may sail, Frodo, if you wish it.  There has been no such allowance granted to mortals since the Changing of the World.”

Frodo stared up at the queen, wide eyed.  Leave Middle-earth?

“I am truly honored Lady,” he stammered, “but even should I someday wish it…”

“What troubles you, Frodo?”

“In the Blessed Realm…” Frodo bowed his head, hot tears prickling his eyes.  “I would be alone," he whispered.

Arwen gently raised Frodo’s head and gazed steadily into his eyes.  "Dear friend, I cannot put into words what I see when I look upon you -- beauty, courage, strength of will... I do not know why, but the Light of Aman shines forth clearly from within you, Frodo, as from no mortal I have known.  In the Blessed Realm you would be honored, and find peace, and companionship unlooked-for, as those who dwell there cannot help but see you as I do.  Trust me when I say that you would not lack for friends.”

“If it is the company of mortals of which you speak,” added Aragorn, “Gandalf has said that Bilbo may also sail -- and there may be others, at a later time.”

“Others?” Frodo asked in wonder.

“You and Bilbo would be the first,” said Arwen, “but not the last.  The world is changing indeed.”

Frodo shook his head, overwhelmed.  “For now,” he said quietly, “I just wish to see the Shire again.”

“And so you shall,” said Aragorn.  “In seven days a great company will ride north to Rohan, and you and your companions will begin your journey home.”

“Take this.”  Arwen took a fine chain from about her neck and slipped it over Frodo’s head.  He looked down in wonder at a shimmering, star-shaped gem.

“This was my mother’s, and has great virtue,” Arwen continued.  “I have found it to bestow comfort and strength in dark moments.  Should you see her…” The beautiful Elf held Frodo’s gaze.  “…tell her that I am well, and happy, and do not regret my choice.”

“Your mother’s?  Lady, I cannot take this,” Frodo gasped.  It was all too much, and the tears were beginning to stream down his face.

“For me, the darkness is at an end,” Arwen said, exchanging a loving glance with Aragorn.  “I have chosen, and will find joy and purpose at the side of my beloved.  For you…” She took his small hand and closed it over the gem.  “…there may be darkness yet.  Wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven.”

Frodo’s eyes grew wide as he felt… something… emanating from the gem -- a song he didn’t recognize… he tried to hear the words…

Arwen smiled at the hobbit’s expression.  “It has its own rhythm, Frodo, as you do.  It may take time for a true blending of energies.”

Aragorn folded his arms around Frodo in a warm embrace.  "At every turn in life we have a choice," he said softly.  "If the time comes, you will choose as seems best to you."

“Can this truly be?  I am… just a hobbit.”

Arwen cupped Frodo’s face in her hands, even as Aragorn continued to hold him.  "You are more than you know, dear one.  You are Elf friend and Ring-bearer, and cherished by all who know you.  This much, at least, we can offer you.”

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered, overcome by her words.  He could not stop the tears from flowing.

Arwen rose to leave, and caught Aragorn’s eye.  “Stay with him,” she murmured.  She rested her hand for a moment on Frodo’s head, then left.

“Aragorn, I… I don’t…”

“Shhh,” the king said softly.  “There is no need to speak, dear friend.  A decision such as this may be years away, and indeed, may never need to be made at all.”

Frodo sighed and closed his eyes, still clutching the gem.  “I feel such peace flowing from this,” he murmured, “such peace…”  He could understand a few words of the song, now, or were they images?  Cool, green grass beneath his feet, and laughing, tumbling waterfalls reflecting starlight… the fragrance of unfamiliar yet sweet flowers…  Such peace…

As the healing song wove through Frodo’s mind and heart, Aragorn felt the hobbit slowly relax.  Frodo’s small hand fell from the gem and he slid into a gentle sleep.

Just rest for now, Aragorn thought.  And later, if the darkness threatens… He could still see, in his mind’s eye, the Havens that he had visited long ago.

“This much, at least, we can offer you,” he murmured.  “It is little enough for all that you have done.”

** TBC **

“But as for me, my heart is with the Sea, and I will dwell by the grey shores, guarding the Havens until the last ship sails.”  Círdan, The Silmarillion

SING ME HOME

Chapter 2 -- Shipwright

Half an hour had passed since the party’s arrival at the thickly-walled town and harbor called by the hobbits the Grey Havens, and by the Elves, Mithlond.  Gandalf had been there to greet them, as well as many Elves who lived and worked at the harbor or nearby.  Frodo and Sam had never dreamed that so many Elves lived west of the Shire; in living memory, no other hobbits had ever ventured this far, or had ever seen the Sea.

In the swirling joy of many greetings, and embraces of old friends, and stabling of ponies and horses, Frodo slipped away from the group and found himself wandering back to a small glade of trees outside the gates.  He did not think he would be missed, as Elrond was settling a drowsy Bilbo to rest in a nearby house, and Sam was in animated discussion with a friendly Elf, who spoke their tongue, about the enormous coils of rope that seemed to be everywhere.

Frodo sank down beneath a tree and pressed back against it, trying to quell an unexpected sense of panic.  He closed his eyes, and his toes curled into the warm ground as if reluctant to release their hold on this last, familiar piece of Middle-earth.

“You are Frodo.”

Frodo looked up to find an unusually tall Elf smiling down at him.  Before he could scramble to his feet, the Elf sank gracefully to the ground and sat next to him.

“Yes sir,” Frodo said.  “At your service.”

“Thank you, Frodo.  I am Círdan.  I, and this place, are at your service.”

“Do you live here?”

“This has been my home for years uncounted.”

“Is it time to leave?” Frodo asked, hoping it wasn’t.  “I have been told that ships must sail at certain times.”

“Frodo,” Círdan said softly, “it is true that those who will sail with you had planned to leave soon -- at the turn of this day’s tide.  However, one day more, or even two, would be of no consequence.  The ship will sail when you are ready, and not before.”  He smiled at the hobbit, then let his gaze travel outward.  “It is very beautiful, is it not?”

Frodo found the Elf’s presence very relaxing.  He appeared to be very old, and spoke slowly, as did most Elves, as if there was all the time in the world -- but in Círdan there was a unique quality that Frodo couldn’t quite define -- something more infinitely patient than anyone he had ever met.

“All our lives we have heard tales of the Sea,” answered Frodo.  “I never dreamed… it’s like…” He gazed, enraptured, at the sparkling colors and infinite expanse before him.  “It never stops moving,” he marveled.

“It is always the same, yet ever-changing.”  Círdan’s gaze grew distant.  “I have known war, Frodo.  I have tried to understand the hearts of Men and Elves.  I have seen reckless passion, and valor, and wisdom hard-won; yet I have learned the most from the Sea, by simply watching, and listening, and waiting.”

“Sir,” Frodo murmured, “do you know… where we are going… are there trees there?  Is there grass, and…” He faltered, unable to continue.

“You wonder if the Blessed Realm will feel like home to you.”  Círdan turned to Frodo and clasped the hobbit’s small hands in his own.  “I can assure you that it will, Frodo.  The trees and flowers and waters -- even the stars themselves -- may not in all ways be what you are used to, but I believe you will find them familiar and welcoming -- yet with a splendor of which you may only have glimpsed in dreams.”

“Sometimes I think I have dreamt about the Blessed Realm.  I’ve seen… places and things of such beauty…”

“Yes,” Círdan agreed, “I believe you have.  Irmo, lord of dreams, has shown it to you.”

Frodo sighed.  “When I returned to the Shire, it felt as if I was falling into a long, slow, sleep -- what had once been my home had become the dream -- somehow unreal.”

“Home is that place, or that person, that sings the song we recognize, Frodo, and which recognizes us.”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

Cirdan smiled at him.  “You will.”

“What…” Frodo struggled to bring the conversation back to something he understood.  “What do you do here at the Havens, Círdan?”

“I am a builder of ships,” the Elf said simply.  “I build, and repair, and gather news, and keep this port in readiness.  It is my honor and joy to be of service to those who have need of this place.  The journey you are about to take is long, but my ships are sound; you need have no fear of that on which you will sail.”

“I do not fear your ship, but…”

“Please, tell me what else concerns you.”

For some reason, Frodo felt that he could open his heart to this gentle Elf.

“I have not been well, and we will be at Sea when…” Frodo swallowed hard.  “In just a few days, I may fall quite ill; it is something that happens to me at this time of the year.  I do not wish to be a burden to anyone.”

“Nor will you be,” said Círdan firmly.  “If you are indeed overtaken by illness, it will be the last such you will ever know, and you will be tended with skill, and devotion, until you are well.  In the Blessed Realm, and perhaps even before you arrive, Estë will guide you towards the healing you require; you will find what you seek, and receive what you need.”

“You are very kind,” Frodo said softly.  “You speak as if you know me.”

Círdan looked deeply into Frodo’s eyes, then closed his own eyes for a moment as if listening to something.  “I believe this journey is necessary for you to make, Frodo; Middle-earth is a place of deep roots and happiness for many -- but no longer, I suspect, for you.”

Círdan once again turned his clear, ageless eyes to Frodo’s.

“I, too, was a Ring-bearer.  I, too, relinquished a ring of power and have lived with its loss.  Someday I, too, will sail West.  I will embark upon the last ship, and make my home on the farthest shore.”

Frodo gasped in amazement.  “You… you were…”

Círdan nodded.  “Although the power of The Three is now gone, each carries yet a unique virtue and energy.  Mithrandir, Galadriel, and Elrond still bear their rings; you and I, however, do not.  We are much alike, Frodo.”

Frodo gazed at him in wonder.

“Who are you, Círdan?”

The Elf released Frodo’s hands and rose to his feet.

“I am but a shipwright, my young friend, nothing more.  Will you come with me to the harbor, and do me the honor of seeing my handiwork more closely?”

“It would be my honor, sir,” Frodo said, standing and bowing deeply.

Círdan smiled.  “A number of my folk will be sailing your ship, but a greater number still will yet remain with me here.  All of them wish to meet you, and are happy you have come.”

Frodo smiled back, his heart lifting.  Cirdan held out his hand, and Frodo took it.

“Come, then.”

** TBC ** 

Notes for Chapter 3:  Pippin’s line in this chapter is taken directly from “The Return of the King” by J.R.R. Tolkien.

White was that ship and long was it a-building.  The Silmarillion

SING ME HOME

Chapter 3 -- Wind Lord

Frodo was interested to see that Sam was apparently having a very earnest conversation with Elrond, Gandalf, and Galadriel, and seemed quite adamant about whatever he was telling them.  As he and Círdan approached, however, Sam abruptly stopped speaking, and turned to Frodo with a smile.

“Isn’t this an amazin’ place, Mr. Frodo?  And so close to the Shire all this time.”  He sighed.  “I’m just sorry for the reason we’re seein’ it.”

“I know, Sam.”  Frodo held out his hand.  “Will you come with us?  This is Círdan, and he’s to show me the ship he’s built for us.”

Sam bowed to the tall Elf.  “An honor to meet you, sir.”

“The honor is mine, Samwise.” 

Hand in hand, the two hobbits accompanied the tall Elf through the small harbor town, followed by a steadily growing crowd.  Their eyes grew wide at the number of beautiful ships, large and small, that lay waiting along the harbor -- but dwarfing them all was an enormous, pure white vessel, the sight of which took Frodo’s breath away.  It seemed ancient and brand-new at the same time, and graceful in its every curve and line.  As they drew closer, and the hobbits had to tilt their heads back to look up and up at the ship’s prow, Frodo and Sam could see that delicate strands of silver, or perhaps mithril, entwined into images of leaves, stars, and waterfalls, decorated the hull at intervals, causing the entire ship to sparkle and glitter in the late-afternoon sun.

Sam was speechless with wonder, and it took Frodo a few moments to find his voice.  Without taking his eyes from the ship, he addressed Círdan, who stood behind them.

“You… Círdan, you built this?  However does one build such a lovely thing as this?”

The Elf smiled happily.  “We have labored long years to bring her to full beauty.”

“I never dreamed any ship could be this beautiful,” Frodo sighed.  “Does she have a name?”

“You will name her, Frodo.”

“I will?” Frodo turned to the Elf in astonishment, then saw that a large crowd had gathered into a semicircle around Círdan, waiting.  Waiting for him.

“Frodo,” Círdan said softly, crouching down to the hobbit’s level, “wherever you go in the Blessed Realm, you will be known, and esteemed, and given whatever you need.  I, too, wish to honor you, as you begin your journey home.”

“Home,” murmured Frodo, tears springing to his eyes.

“Yes,” Círdan smiled at him.  “You will soon understand.  I must ask you -- do you feel ready to sail?”

“Yes,” Frodo whispered.  “I am ready now.”

“Then I wish to honor you, and my ship, and ask you to name her.”

“I…” Frodo faltered and looked around at everyone smiling at him.  “My Elvish isn’t…”

“The language matters not.  It is the spirit, and the meaning, that is most valued.”

Frodo looked up at Gandalf, who nodded at him.  Círdan rose to his feet and stepped back, joining the semicircle of onlookers, leaving Frodo and Sam alone.  Sam tried to step back as well, but Frodo held tight to his hand.

Frodo wiped at his eyes with his free hand, and turned to face the white ship.  What name could he give?  How could he convey what he was feeling?  This journey, he hoped, would take him from weariness and pain, to healing… it represented hope…

Frodo suddenly gave Sam’s hand a squeeze and turned back to the waiting crowd.

“Her name is Gwaihir.”  Frodo gazed up at Círdan, half expecting the Elf to laugh.

“Wind-lord,” Círdan said approvingly.  “A noble name for a noble vessel, Frodo.  How came you by it?”

Frodo looked at Gandalf.  “I do not remember the lord of eagles who brought Sam and me out of the fire; memory of that journey from despair to hope is forever lost to me.”  He turned back to Círdan.  “The sight of this ship lifts me once again from despair to hope, and this journey I will remember.  Or…” Frodo faltered, “I will remember as much as I am able.”

“Now Mr. Frodo,” Sam reassured him, “these folk will take good care of you.”

Elrond stepped forward.  “Frodo,” he said gently, “we know you are concerned about falling ill in but a few short days.  It may be that you will do so -- but we will do everything we can to aid you.”

“Oh Sam,” Frodo sighed.  “I’m not used to any fuss.  Did you tell everyone?”

“Just Lord Elrond, and Gandalf, and the Lady,” Sam replied, blushing, “and maybe Gildor and… and a few others.”  He still held Frodo’s hand in one of his, and now he boldly took the other, as well.  “I won’t be there to look after you, sir, but all these fine folks will be, and no mistake.”

Frodo sighed heavily, then smiled in relief.  “Dear Sam.”

The crowd broke up, each returning to his or her chosen task, while Elrond, Círdan, Gandalf, and Galadriel moved off and stood together.

“I have not seen a brighter spirit in a mortal in many an Age,” Círdan murmured.  “Could not his own people recognize him?” He shook his head in amazement.  “Perhaps those who do not value a treasure deserve to lose it.”

“Samwise sees him truly,” Gandalf said softly, “but few others, I suspect.  And speaking of others…” He broke off and smiled fondly at two hobbits on ponies, riding madly through the gates.

Frodo barely had time to register the blur that was Pippin before he was wrapped in his cousin’s embrace and nearly knocked into the water.

“You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo.”  Pippin hugged his cousin with a laugh, although he was crying.

“Pippin,” Frodo sighed, holding him tight.  “Oh, Pip.”

After Pippin had said his goodbyes, Merry tore his gaze away from the Sea, and the ship, and came to Frodo’s side.  Without a word, Pippin stepped away and Merry took his place, gathering Frodo into his arms for the last time.

“Merry,” Frodo sobbed.

“Frodo,” Merry said softly, his face wet with tears, “travel safe.  I hope you find everything you need, to be happy.”  He looked up at Gandalf, who was standing nearby.  “Make sure they feed him, Gandalf.  You know hobbits.”

“No one knows them better, my friend,” said the wizard with a gentle smile.

Merry released Frodo, reluctantly, and Frodo saw that the Elves were beginning to board the ship.  Elrond had Bilbo in his arms.  Círdan was embracing each person as they boarded, and he caught Frodo’s eye.

“Come,” said Gandalf softly.  He led Merry and Pippin a short distance away.

“Sam,” Frodo whispered.  From behind him, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He spun around, then, and fell into Sam’s arms.  “Sam…”

Sam embraced Frodo and let his tears fall.  “You don’t have to say anything, sir.  I know.”

A freshening wind blew through their hair, and they both knew it was time.

“Go on.”  Sam looked into the beautiful eyes, into the face of the master he had loved throughout life and to the brink of death, and back again.  “Go on, sir.  They’ll take good care of you…” He smiled through his tears.  “…until maybe I’ll see you again.”

“Until then, Sam.”  Frodo, for his part, was memorizing every inch of Sam’s dear face, or what he could see of it through the tears blurring his vision.  “Dear Sam.  Until then.”

~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again.”

Círdan knelt at the foot of the ramp, leading to the ship, and took Frodo into his arms for a long moment.

“I do not know, Frodo, but I am happy that we have met.”

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered.

“Remember what I said,” Círdan spoke softly.  “Home is that place, or that person, that sings the song we recognize, and which recognizes us.”  He stood up and lay his hands on Frodo’s head.  “May the stars shine upon you, Frodo Baggins.  Journey with a fair wind and a light heart.”

Frodo wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, then walked up the ramp and boarded the ship.

“Cast off!”

Frodo stood at the rail, gripping it tightly, as the ship began to slowly move away from the dock.  The crowd of Elves on land raised their voices, as one, in a song of farewell and new beginnings.

Frodo saw Sam, Merry, and Pippin, standing together, arm in arm, watching him.  How could he show them how much he loved them… how much they meant…  With a sure hand, he withdrew the crystal phial from his breast pocket, and held it up.

As Frodo filled himself with the love he felt for his friends, for his Shire, and for Middle-earth, the phial blazed forth with a radiance so bright that many of the Elves on shore, and most of those aboard the ship, knelt before it.  As Eärendil’s star shone on their faces, the voyagers burst into song, and Frodo found himself joining them, singing words he didn’t recognize, but which fell easily from his lips for as long as the music lasted.

** TBC **

“Now fair and marvelous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright.”   The Silmarillion

SING ME HOME

Chapter 4 -- The Bent Seas

Frodo stared at Elrond, aghast.

“If he had told me… if I had known…”

“He preferred that you did not know, Frodo.”  Elrond smiled at the mortified hobbit.  “Círdan wished to speak with you as a friend only.”

“But…” Frodo looked up once more at the brilliant, glittering light low in the evening sky.  “He built… he…”

“He did.”  Elrond put his arm around the hobbit and followed his gaze.  “Vingilot, it is said, is the fairest ship ever built -- hallowed by the Valar, it is steered through skies and pathless void, in voyages unending.”

“By your father,” Frodo murmured in awe.

Frodo still couldn’t quite grasp it all.  The kind, gentle Elf who had befriended him -- Círdan of the Havens, a simple shipwright, he had said -- had built the ship that sailed in the skies above them, helmed by Eärendil himself?  Eärendil’s star -- the only Silmaril that would ever be seen again -- captured in the very phial that had seen him through a darkness unimaginable.  He shivered with a sudden chill, and gratefully let Elrond drape a blanket around him.

“Does he know you’re coming?  Your mother, does she know?”

“I am certain of it,” Elrond said quietly.  “Círdan gathers and sends news through many sources, and I do not doubt that they know.”  He smiled at the hobbit.  “…as they know you are coming, as well.”

Frodo sighed.  That was far too grand a concept to even think about.

“Do you remember them?”

“Not very well,” Elrond murmured, “but I will know them.”

“And your wife,” Frodo whispered, “you will join her at last?”

“Yes,” Elrond said softly.  “At last.”

Elrond, Frodo, and Gildor were sitting together at the prow of the ship, holding onto the carefully strung ropes that were all that kept them from tumbling off the ship into the dark waters below.  Frodo loved this spot, and he often came to watch, in endless delight, the friendly fish that frolicked unending, and the foamy water being churned by the bow, and the Sea itself, singing and soothing and ever-changing.  Day after day, he never grew tired of watching, and listening, and letting the presence of the Sea calm him.  Bilbo sometimes joined him, or one or more of the many Elves who roamed the ship, joy and stars ever-shining in their eyes.  This evening Elrond and Gildor had come to sit with him.

“What is Tol Eressëa like?” asked Frodo.

“It is said to be a place of wonder,” Gildor spoke, “with gardens and flowers, and towns of great beauty and peace.  The Light of Aman in its glory can be seen and felt, shining through the Calacirya, as it bathes the Island and lifts every heart in song.”

“Aman would be too bright for me, wouldn’t it?” Frodo asked with a sigh.

“Yes, Frodo, it would,” Elrond said gently, “at least, at first.  But to the Blessed Isle you, and other mortals, may go in safety, and live in peace.”

“The Elves of Tol Eressëa will welcome you with joy,” Gildor assured Frodo.  “They will delight in speech with you, especially as your words grow more fluid by the day.”

“I doubt many in the Blessed Realm speak the Common Tongue!” Frodo laughed merrily.  “I am learning more Elvish only just in time!”

Frodo had insisted that the Elves stop speaking to him in the Common Tongue, unless urgency demanded it.  His Elvish had never been as good as Bilbo’s, even before the old hobbit’s long residency in Rivendell had sharpened it, but he was learning quickly.

“Your pronunciation is even better than when we met,” said Gildor with a smile.  “I have never forgotten that night.”

“Nor have I,” Frodo said quietly.  Another chill shook him, and he drew the blanket closer, unaware that Elrond was watching him carefully.  “You did not know it, Gildor, but I believe the presence of you and your party drove off a wraith that was following us.”

“I sensed you were being pursued, Frodo.  To know that one of the wraiths was near must have…”

Wraiths.  Pursued.  Gildor’s words faded as Frodo found his gaze pulled down, down into the frothing, churning water.  He had crossed the river at last, but the Bruinen was flooding, crashing… it would sweep him away along with the wraiths, but that was all right.  He was so tired… tired of resisting and fighting, and tired of the pain and the cold…  No, he had to fight, there was still hope.  So cold…

“Frodo?”  Gildor suddenly realized that Frodo’s face had suddenly gone very pale, and he seemed mesmerized by the water, almost entranced.  “Frodo, do you hear me?”

“Gildor, find Mithrandir and Galadriel, and bring them to Frodo’s cabin,” Elrond said quickly.  As Gildor leaped to his feet and departed, Elrond grasped the hobbit’s chin in one hand and gazed worriedly into blue eyes suddenly frightened and unfocused.

Frodo gasped as he realized that a shadowy figure was bending over him.  They couldn’t have it, no, they wouldn’t get it…  One of them had hold of him and was calling his name, over and over.  How did they know his name?  He had to get away!

Elrond nearly lost his grip as Frodo tried to break free of the blanket that restrained him.  Fearing that he would tumble overboard, the Elf lord wrapped both arms around the struggling hobbit and tried to calm him, but it was obvious that Frodo did not recognize him, and no longer knew where he was.

“No, no,” Frodo whispered brokenly, “don’t… please…”  Suddenly he clutched his left arm in agony.  He tried to scream, but the churning, dark waters were dragging him down…

Elrond rose to his feet, the stricken hobbit held securely in his arms.  He carefully made his way across the deck and descended the spiraling, bejeweled staircase that led belowdecks, to the sleeping rooms.  Elves that he passed were distressed to realize that the respected Ring-bearer, always laughing and shining with a clear light, had indeed fallen ill, as had been feared.

*~*~*~*~*

“He has a fever, that came on suddenly.  He no longer knew us, and seemed to be in great pain and distress.”  Elrond had settled Frodo in his bed and covered him with several warm, thick blankets.

Gandalf nodded, and pressed his hand to Frodo’s brow; he was indeed hot, but shivered with chill.

“It is good we were with him,” Gildor murmured.  He set on a table the mug of hot tea Elrond had sent him to prepare.  “We stayed near all day, although I do not believe he suspected anything.  As the evening progressed, I was hopeful that the day would pass without incident.”

“As was I,” Gandalf agreed.  “But it was at night, on this date, that the Morgul blade struck him, and somehow the memory of that cursed blade strikes at him yet again.”

Galadriel sat on the bed and tucked the blankets around Frodo, then gently pulled the semi-conscious, delirious hobbit into her arms, murmuring gentle words.

Elrond sat next to her, and reached inside Frodo’s shirt to draw out the chain holding his daughter’s gem.  He closed one of Frodo’s hands upon it, and the hobbit sighed and became less restless.

“Does he know what this is?” asked Galadriel, motioning to the necklace.

“I do not think so,” Elrond replied.  “This small piece of Valinor has been slowly weaving its song through Frodo’s essence.”  A small smile touched his lips.  “I was surprised that Arwen could part with it, but she told me that she and Aragorn will sing a new song together.  She gave Frodo a gift no mortal could ever have imagined.”

“If he draws such comfort from one small gem from the glittering shores of Aman,” Galadriel said softly, “he will know joy indeed in the Blessed Realm, surrounded always by the very energy and song that he wears about his neck.”

Elrond nodded.  “Once free of Middle-earth, I doubt he will ever again know illness -- only peace.”

“What…” Frodo slowly opened his eyes, startled to find himself in the arms of the Lady of Light.

“You are safe, Frodo,” Galadriel said softly.  “You will soon be well.”  She picked up the mug and brought it to Frodo’s lips, urging him to drink.

“Thank you, Lady,” Frodo whispered.  His shoulder ached, and he was cold despite the blankets.  “I did not realize what day it was.”  He tried to sit up, fighting against the weariness pulling at him.  “I’ll be fine, you don’t have to---”

“Frodo,” Gandalf reassured him, “One of us will be with you until morning.  You are no burden, dear boy.”

Elrond took the mug from Galadriel and urged Frodo to take a few more sips.  “Let sleep take you, Frodo, and do not fear.  I do not believe any shadows will follow you into the dreams our songs will weave for you.”

Frodo nodded and stopped struggling, his eyelids growing heavy.  “Thank you.  I… that tea is very…” He sighed and relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut, the Lady’s arms still encircling him.  Soon he was deeply asleep.

Gandalf sank into a chair and gazed thoughtfully at Frodo.

“If we had by now sailed far enough to reach the Straight Road, I doubt he would be this ill, if at all.”

“I agree,” Galadriel said.  “Middle-earth does not easily release him.”

“When the Seas bend, and we continue on…” Elrond mused.

“He must be prepared,” Galadriel said firmly, “as must Bilbo.”

“We still do not  know, for certain, what will happen,” Elrond reminded her.  “The Straight Road, so it is said, is a journey that mortal flesh unaided cannot endure.”

“That is true,” Gandalf agreed, “but Manwë would not have put aside the ancient ban without making provision for the Secondborn to pass from Middle-earth unhindered.”

Elrond lightly touched Frodo’s face.  The hobbit was still fevered, but in a restful sleep.

“I will stay with him,” Galadriel said softly.

“As will I,” said Gildor.  He took Frodo from the Lady’s arms and settled him back in bed, making sure he was well covered.

As Elrond and Gandalf left for a time, Galadriel quietly began to sing of Valinor, the melody sweet and calming, and the concerned Elves outside the Ring-bearer’s door smiled to hear it.

 ** TBC **

"Therefore the loremasters of Men said that a Straight Road must still be, for those that were permitted to find it.”   The Silmarillion

SING ME HOME

Chapter 5 -- The Straight Road

He felt a cool wind in his face, and took a deep breath of fresh, salt-Sea air.  Close to his ear a dear, familiar voice murmured, “Come, Frodo-lad, it’s time to wake up.”

Frodo opened his eyes to discover that he was wrapped in warm blankets and lying on one of the large, soft cushions laid down along the white deck of the ship.  He stretched and sat up, a bit disoriented, finding that Gandalf sat on one side of him and Bilbo on the other.  There were quite a few Elves standing about nearby, and, as each saw with relief that the Ring-bearer had recovered, he or she nodded and smiled at Frodo, then walked off.

"Good morning, Frodo.  You’re feeling better, I see,” Gandalf said.

"Yes,” Frodo yawned.  “I had the nicest dream -- about the Shire.  Rather, it felt like the Shire, only more wonderful.  Everything was so green and fresh, and there was light everywhere, and the air smelled of flowers… even the flowers were lit up.”  He sighed.  “There were waterfalls higher than the ones in Rivendell, so beautiful, and the waters seemed to be singing…”

"That is hardly the Shire I remember,” Bilbo chuckled.

"You are correct, Bilbo,” said Gandalf thoughtfully.  “He is describing the western side of Tol Eressëa.”

"Am I?” Frodo asked, surprised.  He gazed out at the sunlit Sea, still pink from the rising sun, and smiled.  “It must be a truly beautiful place.”

"It is, indeed.”

"I suppose I will have very little time to enjoy it,” sighed Bilbo, “but I have already lived longer than any other hobbit, and do not begrudge a day of it.”

"You may enjoy it longer than you think,” said Galadriel as she came to join them.  She sat gracefully next to Bilbo, and several Elves placed bowls of fruit and fresh breads before them.

"How are you feeling, Frodo?”

"I am well, thank you, Lady,” Frodo looked up at her with a grateful smile.  “There was pain, and cold, and bitter memories, but then… you were singing, I think, and the darkness lifted, and I remember only wonderful dreams.”

"It is our hope that you will not know such an illness again.”  Galadriel’s golden hair sparkled in the sunlight as if gems had been set within it.

"That is my hope, as well,” Frodo said.

"What did you mean when you said I may enjoy the Island longer than I think?” Bilbo asked her.

"It has to do with how the flow of time is perceived,” Galadriel explained.  “You felt it, Frodo, most strongly in Lórien, I believe… do you recall that weeks would pass and seem like days?”

"Yes,” Frodo agreed, choosing a sweet apple.  “We all noticed that.”

"I believe you will experience it even more strongly in the Blessed Realm,” continued Galadriel, “for what I was able to bestow upon the Golden Wood, through Nenya, was but an echo of Eldamar.  In the West, time indeed passes, but gently, and largely unnoticed.  Immortality is not one of the gifts any may bestow on the Secondborn, but I suspect that you will live among us in peace and joy for longer than you may have thought.”

"I should hope so,” Bilbo chuckled.  “An island that beautiful, and with such a long history, will need to be explored from one end to the other by two adventurous hobbits, wouldn’t you say so, my lad?”

Frodo smiled and put an arm around Bilbo.  He doubted that any realm, however, blessed, would return any measure of youth or vigor to his beloved uncle -- but whatever time they would have together, they would have.

"I will go adventuring with you, Bilbo,” Frodo murmured, “for as long as you wish it.”  He was struck by a sudden thought.  “Lady, if Sam should ever choose to sail…”

"…then you will certainly be there to greet him,” Galadriel replied, perceiving his unspoken question.  She smiled.  “Should Samwise someday recognize in his heart the song of his new home, and follow it, then you will see him again.”

"I am glad,” Frodo said softly.

*~*~*~*~*

It was not yet dawn, perhaps a week after his illness, when Frodo was awakened by Gildor kneeling beside his bed.

"Is something wrong?” Frodo asked, sitting up.  He thought the Elf seemed nervous, or holding in check a great excitement.

"I am sorry to wake you,” Gildor said.  “You need to join us on deck, Frodo.  Gandalf has already awakened Bilbo.”

Frodo rose and quickly drew on some clothes, then preceded Gildor up the winding stairway.  The mithril and jewels that decorated the ship glittered in the starlight to such an extent that no other lights were required by which to see his way.  Arriving at the vast deck, Frodo saw that it was crowded; nearly everyone aboard, it seemed, appeared to be already there -- standing, or sitting, or singing softly -- all, it seemed, waiting for something.

Gildor steered Frodo through the crowd to where Elrond and Gandalf were sitting.  Gandalf had a very sleepy Bilbo on his lap, and Elrond motioned for Frodo to sit between him and the wizard.  Gildor sat down near them, and bowed his head.

"What’s happening?” Frodo whispered.  He could see that Galadriel stood alone at the prow, her hair streaming behind her in the wind, gazing into the West.

"You are just in time,” Elrond replied.  He took one of Frodo’s hands in his large one, one finger unobtrusively resting against the hobbit’s pulse point, and smiled down at him.

"Do you feel it, Frodo?  Close your eyes…”

Frodo did so, but felt nothing more than the ever-present motion of the ship, and the wind in his hair.  He was about to open his eyes when Galadriel’s pure voice rose in a clear, joyous song, and a wave of dizziness suddenly came over him.  For a moment he found it difficult to breathe, and he felt Elrond’s arms surround him.

"Breathe, Frodo,” Elrond murmured, “breathe… relax… just listen…”

Frodo  clung to the Elf lord, and listened, and began to feel… something…  from directly ahead, from the West…  It rushed at him, and through him, in a cascade of light, and music, and warmth.  It was joyous peace, and acceptance, and a chorus of welcoming voices.  He felt safe, and loved, and so suddenly happy that he wondered if he would at any moment burst with joy.

Frodo didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the Elf lord’s gentle hand on his face.

"Ah,” Elrond murmured to the hobbit.  “It has been long, has it not, since you have felt like this?”

"Not since…” Frodo, his eyes still tightly closed, could hardly speak.  “Not since I was a child, Lord Elrond -- a very, very young child -- before I knew anything of fear, or grief, or emptiness.”

"There is none of that any longer, not for you,” said the Elf Lord, and he and Gandalf exchanged a look of relief.  Whatever aid mortals might once have required to pass into the West, they needed no longer.  The Straight Road had been opened.

"I don’t want this to end,” murmured Frodo.

"It will not,” Elrond assured him.  “Understand this, Frodo -- you fled the Shire with the Ring out of love for your land, and its people, and accomplished things beyond imagining.  You loved the Shire, Frodo, but when you returned, it did not return your devotion; it did not cherish, honor, or wrap you to its heart.  If it had, you would not have chosen to sail, I suspect.”

"No,” Frodo whispered, opening his eyes at last, “perhaps not.”

"And so, you found the courage to leave the Shire for a second time,” Elrond continued, “in search of healing and peace -- in search of your true home -- that place and energy that would welcome and recognize you.”

Abruptly the wind ceased, the only sound now the soft, joyous singing of the Elves grouped around them.

Frodo wiped his face and looked around.  “What is it?”

"At this moment,” said Elrond softly, “beneath this ship, at this very spot, we are leaving the bent Seas behind us and continuing on the Straight Road, toward Aman.”

"Leaving the Seas behind?  You never spoke about this,” Frodo said.

"We knew not, truly, what would happen when we reached this spot,” Gandalf said.

"You mean, what would happen… to Bilbo and me?”

"Yes -- and to other mortals yet to journey West.”

"Bilbo, are you all right?”

"Right as rain, my lad.”  Bilbo rested in Gandalf’s arms, looking peaceful and content.  “Right as rain.”

Frodo looked around.  With no wind, and with a sudden cessation of the ship’s movement, it seemed as if they were standing still.  A fine mist surrounded the ship, and he could see neither stars nor sun.

"Gandalf, are we still on the water?”  Frodo saw several Elves nearby look towards the wizard, as if they had been wondering the same thing.

"In a sense,” the wizard replied, “but not the Sea as you have known it.  My dear friends…” the wizard spoke to Frodo and Bilbo, and all who were listening, “…you have left Middle-earth.”

"I feel it,” Frodo whispered in awe.  “I do.  It’s like something Sam said once… about being inside of a song.  And I…” He closed his eyes again.  “I know this song.”  He pulled out the gem on its chain about his neck, and held it, and with his other hand, reached out for Bilbo, who gently clasped it.

"And it knows you,” Elrond murmured.

** TBC **

Responses to reviews can be found at the bottom of the page.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course.  The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

_________________________

“But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.”  Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring

SING ME HOME

Chapter 6 -- Tol Eressëa

Frodo had assumed that it would take as long to sail this “straight road” as it had to sail the Seas now bent forever behind them, but that wasn’t how it happened.  It took only a few days longer, as far as he could tell, and the buoyant, joyous feeling of acceptance and love and welcome never left him, not even in sleep.  His dreams were peaceful, and vivid, and unfolded vistas and faces before him that, after several nights, began to feel as familiar as the Shire and the folk he loved.

There seemed always to be a gentle, sparkling mist in the air that made it difficult to be sure exactly how many days were passing.  But one evening after his meal, he went on deck to find that it was raining -- or was it the mist, just heavier and wrapping them more closely?  It lasted all that night, and as the hours passed, or seemed to, he found himself drawn from his bed again and again, finally giving up on elusive sleep to join a large number of Elves up on the deck who had also sensed… something.  Gildor saw the tiny Ring-bearer and came to his side.

“Something’s happening,” Frodo whispered in delight.  “Are we close?”

“Yes, dear one, we are close.  May I?”  Gildor reached down and Frodo came willingly into his arms.  The Elf lifted the hobbit high, and then lowered his arms until Frodo was sitting on his shoulders.  “Now you can see what there is to see,” Gildor smiled, “without all these enormous Elves crowding your vision.”

Frodo looked around, delighted to be so high.  He was soaked to the skin, as was everyone else, but they felt neither cold nor uncomfortable.  There was only the mist, and the sound of sweet singing.

“Do you smell that?” Gildor took a deep, full breath, and Frodo did the same.  The fragrance was delicate and wonderful, and reminded Frodo of something he was unable to quickly identify.  It smelled like…

Frodo gasped as suddenly, from every direction, the mist abruptly lit up with a silver brilliance.  Frodo began to tremble with recognition.  A night of rain… fragrance and singing and… This was his dream!  He had never forgotten the unusual dream that night in the house of Tom Bombadil and his Lady.  This was… this was the same.  His conversation with Círdan rang in his head.

“Sometimes I think I have dreamt about the Blessed Realm.  I’ve seen… places and things of such beauty…”

“I believe you have.  Irmo, lord of dreams, has shown it to you.”

Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, everyone was still, and quiet, as, for just a moment, the Elves stopped singing.  Some knelt, some bowed their heads, and some, Gildor among them, wept with joy.

The mist was gone.  Before them was Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle.

Although they were still far off, and what he beheld had been described to him as the less fair, eastern side, Frodo beheld wide, pure white shores and green hills.  The sun, just rising behind them, lit the island in a rose-gold hue, and a single tower, visible even at this distance, gleamed white as a beacon.

“What do you see?” Frodo asked Gildor.  He knew that an Elf’s eyesight was keener than that of any mortal.

“I see ships large and small anchored in the harbor,” Gildor said softly.  “I see a city of great beauty and simplicity, gleaming white against the hills, and many fountains… the Mallorn bloom, as do flowers I do not recognize.  But most of all…” Gildor smiled, and reached up to grasp Frodo’s hand.  “I see people, Frodo.  The docks, harbor, shores… filled with people.  I hope this multitude will not unsettle you.”

“They will hardly notice two small hobbits,” Frodo laughed, “and I suspect Bilbo and I will be able to slip past them unnoticed.  It is Galadriel, and Elrond, and all of you, whom they wish to welcome.”  Frodo suddenly noticed Bilbo standing nearby.  Gildor lifted him and set him gently onto the deck, and Frodo ran to Bilbo and enfolded the old hobbit in his arms.

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo had assumed that the ancient harbor of Avallónë would look the same as that of the Havens, but it resembled no place he had ever seen or imagined.  As the graceful ship slid into its awaited place, and its ropes were made fast to the dock, Frodo gripped the rail, with Bilbo and Gandalf beside him, and tried to take it all in.

The water itself was clear and deep -- so clear, Frodo thought he could see the shadow of the ship’s hull on the sandy bottom, far, far below them.  Every building, bridge, gate, and road within Frodo’s vision was exquisitely crafted, showing the millenia of loving skill that had been wrought in every delicate arch and harmonious line.  Flowers bloomed everywhere, and fountains threw up sparkling waters in every shape and hue.  There was no sign, anywhere, of age or wear or neglect.  Avallónë was a beloved jewel set against verdant hills, and no dream had ever prepared Frodo for such beauty.

And Gildor had been correct -- Elves crowded every available walkway and cleared space, wearing robes and gowns of so many gentle colors and delicate design, they appeared, themselves, as vibrant and life-filled as the flowers most of them were carrying, and the multi-colored birds darting in and out of the trees.

“Oh,” Frodo whispered.  “Bilbo, there are children here!”

Bilbo just nodded, as captivated as was Frodo.  Neither of them had ever seen an Elf child, and there was a whole group of them by one of the fountains, laughing and playing some sort of game.

Frodo’s attention was caught by the sight of Galadriel walking slowly down the ramp to the dock, the first of any to leave the ship.  At the bottom of the ramp she hesitated, as if uncertain of what welcome she might receive, but then this daughter of the Noldor, exiled no longer, was nearly crushed in a joyous, weeping multitude, all trying to embrace her at once.

“There now,” Bilbo murmured beside him.  “Everything’s all right, then.”

Elves now streamed off the ship, some into waiting, loving arms, some welcomed with flowers and warm embraces.

“Look,” Bilbo said softly.

A beautiful woman, the first to have run to Galadriel and thrown herself into the Lady’s arms, had separated herself from the throng, and now stood at the bottom of the ramp.  She wore a gown of pale blue, with silver and gold flowers embroidered around hem and sleeves.  Frodo realized that she looked very much like Arwen, although her hair was golden, and flowed nearly to her feet.  Her cheeks were wet with tears, and, with a cry, she suddenly ran to the top of the ramp, onto the ship, and into Elrond’s arms.

Frodo felt he would never see a more glorious sight than that of Lord Elrond laughing and crying and twirling the slender Elf woman about, then pulling her into an embrace, and a kiss that seemed that it would last for as long as the stars shone.  It was with an effort that he pulled his gaze away from the lovely sight to look up at Gandalf, who was patting him gently on the shoulder.

“Come,” the wizard said softly, and he walked forward to the waiting couple, Frodo on one side of him and Bilbo on the other.

“Mithrandir,” the woman murmured, “it is good to see you again, dear friend.”

“Celebrían,” the wizard kissed her hand.  “This joyous day has at last arrived.”  He was about to introduce the hobbits when she smiled at him, her eyes twinkling.  She knelt, and took Bilbo into her arms.

“Bilbo,” Celebrían murmured to the hobbit, “we are overjoyed that you are here at last.”

“Lady Celebrían,” Bilbo said, bowing deeply, “it is an honor to meet you.”

She turned to Frodo and pulled him into a warm embrace, then looked deeply into his eyes.

“Frodo,” she murmured, “I welcome you home.”

“T. .thank you, Lady,” Frodo whispered, also bowing low.  “I… I bring you greetings from your daughter, who wishes you to know that she is happy and well.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Celebrían said softly.  She caught sight of the chain about the hobbit’s neck, and she gently drew it out.  She took the jewel in her hand and kissed it, then smiled at Frodo and pressed her lips to his forehead before rising gracefully to her feet.  She and Elrond moved away, and Frodo came out of his awed reverie to find that Gildor, once he had greeted the former Lady of Imladris, had come to stand before the hobbits.

“Frodo, Bilbo…” Gildor smiled, “will you do me the honor of accompanying me, as we disembark?”

“Of course, Gildor,” Frodo said.  “We can just…” He suddenly realized that they were nearly the only people left on board, but the crowds below were, if anything, even larger.

“What are they all waiting for?” Frodo asked, puzzled.

“They are waiting for you.” Gildor knelt in front of the astonished hobbit.  “I do not know how mortals see each other, Frodo, but when we look at you, we see a being of such beauty and Light that I cannot truly describe it.  You will not lack for friends, or a very joyous welcome.”  Bilbo chuckled, and beamed with pride.

“I am sorry, Frodo, but you and Bilbo will not be able to slip by unnoticed, as you had hoped.”  Gildor smiled warmly.  “Will you come and feast with us, and enjoy a proper homecoming?”

“Feast?” Bilbo grinned.  “Come, my lad.  Let us see if these Elves know how to properly ‘feast’ a hobbit or two!”

Frodo laughed and threw his arms around the old hobbit. “Oh, Bilbo” he murmured, “we’re here!”

“Indeed we are, dear boy,” Bilbo grinned.  He breathed deeply of the sweet air, and his eyes sparkled with excitement.  “Whatever will two simple hobbits do in such a grand place?”

“I don’t care what we do.”  Frodo took Bilbo’s hand.  “This is our home,” he said with a joyous smile.  “We’re home.”

** TBC **

Responses to reviews for Chapter 5:

aprilkat and Elbereth and Shireling:  Wow.  Thank you.

Ailsa Joy and Aratlithiel:  I’m awestruck that folks are hoping for more chapters.  I originally planned this tale as three short chapters (Minas Tirith, the Grey Havens, and the Straight Road), but I don’t seem to be in charge of this story anymore.

Eledhwen and Nilmandra:  Many thanks.  This story has required more research than anything I’ve written previously.

Gayalondiel and Kay:  If we’re all bawling at the end of ROTK, it’ll help to imagine that a healing such as this one awaits Frodo.  I hope it’ll help…!

Grand Theft Author Otaku:  I’m so glad you weren’t disappointed!

jodancingtree and Orangeblossom Took and Treehugger:  Yes, healing very often is aided by the loving and respectful attention of people we love and respect.  Frodo now has that all around him.  He is “coming home” not just to a place, but to the fulfillment of all he has been missing.

Kit5:  Oh, I love the idea of Bilbo living to see his two-hundred-eleventy-first birthday!

Lily Baggins:  Arwen’s jewel may or may not have come from Valinor -- I don’t think it was ever explained -- but those origins fit my story.

Lindelea:  I love your review -- it was perfectly coherent to me!

MagicalRachel:  Ah, but “hurt/comfort” and “torture” are, to me, two completely separate genres.  (Maybe they’re not, but I like to think so.)  Angst for the sake of angst is hard for me to read (and write); but angst that leads to healing and growth and new understandings… to me, that’s the essence of h/c.

Master Elora Dannan:  What a beautiful quote!  Oh my, that’s marvelous!  I think you should write a little something about this subject, yourself.

Pearl Took:  Oh, Pearl, what a lovely thing to say!  This feels very special to me, too, and I’m honored it chose me to tell it.  (This is a part of the tale open to everyone’s interpretation, so I hope to see stories from many, many folks so we can all share our visions.)

reginabean:  Chapter 5 made you feel all warm and gushie inside?  I’m so glad!

Since ROTK (the movie) said that Frodo and Bilbo were boarding “the last ship”, which implies that Sam will never go to the Havens, I just had to write something about the reunion of Frodo and Sam in the West. 

To all of the incredibly kind readers who wanted this story to continue, thank you.

DISCLAIMER:  Of course.  The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

_________________________

“Above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell; I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.”  Samwise Gamgee, The Return of the King

SING ME HOME

Chapter 7 -- Samwise

Frodo gazed into the palantír and tried to understand what he was seeing.  He had never been denied any request to use the masterstone in the Tower of Avallónë, and in his first years on Tol Eressëa he had appreciated the glimpses of his homeland and friends -- but it hadn’t taken long for his need to look upon Middle-earth to lessen, then cease altogether.  The Shire thrived, and those he loved were content -- that was all that mattered.

Shaking his head, he stepped down from the pedestal and faced the wizard.  “How much time has passed, Gandalf?” he asked, puzzled.

“You have been here nearly 60 years,” the wizard replied.  He looked out through one of the many bejeweled windows.  From here, gazing east, the vast expanse of the Sea was dazzling, and seemed to go on forever.

“Sixty years?” Frodo gasped.  “I knew that several years had passed, but--”

“It is as Galadriel told you and Bilbo, that day aboard ship,” Gandalf said.  He helped Frodo up to the ledge beneath the window so they could both gaze out at the glittering Sea from the high tower.  “Here in the West, time indeed passes -- but gently, and largely unnoticed.”  He smiled at his friend.  “You are aging slowly, and dear Bilbo is still with us.”

“It is because Bilbo is still with us that I assumed that little time had passed,” Frodo mused.  “Amazing, Gandalf -- but now I understand what the stone showed me.”

“Sam,” Gandalf said gently.

“Yes.”  Frodo grinned.  “He looks as I remember the Gaffer to look -- elderly, but hale and energetic… and surrounded by children and grandchildren beyond count!”

“He is coming,” Gandalf said quietly.  “All that he has put his hands to has blossomed, and the Shire is whole.  His dear wife has passed, and only one thing remains for him to do, now.”

“When?” Frodo whispered.  “Oh, when?”

“Soon,” the wizard replied.  “For him, the voyage will seem long; but for you… it will seem but a few days until he is here.”  He smiled down at the hobbit.  “You had best brush up on the Common Tongue, Frodo Baggins -- Samwise will not understand your speech.”

Frodo nodded.  ‘You and Bilbo had better start speaking to me in Westron again, Gandalf!  It has been a long time.”  He frowned suddenly.  “How old am I?”

“I believe you have just passed your 114^th birthday, dear boy.”

“Dear boy?” Frodo laughed.  “You are a marvel, Gandalf.”

“So are you, my lad,” the wizard said fondly.

“We should have celebrated my eleventy-first birthday with fireworks,” Frodo said as they began the long descent of the winding stairway.  “Have the Elves here ever seen them?”

“Now that you mention it,” Gandalf said thoughtfully, “I don’t believe they have.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Seated on the smooth, rock-hewn ledge that bordered one of the fountains, Frodo watched, along with the crowd, as the ship entered the harbor.  It was not as breathtakingly beautiful as Gwaihir, perhaps, but each ship Círdan crafted had a grace and majesty of its own.  The arrival of a ship from Middle-earth was a rare event -- this was only the first since he himself had arrived, and Frodo found himself wondering how many more years, or centuries, it would be until the last ship sailed.  As had been true when Gwaihir docked, the pathways and surrounding lawns were filled with people waiting to greet long-sundered kinsmen.

A steady stream of Elves, both dark-haired and golden, streamed off the ship, greeted with cries of joy and songs of welcome.  Frodo’s heart swelled as he at last spotted Sam, who had been led to the top of the ramp by a smiling Elf he recognized as Erestor from the House of Elrond.

From his vantage point, Sam anxiously scanned the crowd of Elves waiting onshore in this place more beautiful than any he had ever seen or imagined in waking life.  The scene felt familiar to him, though… somehow.  In recent years he had begun to dream of white shores and star-lit fountains, and a sweet, caressing song that had slowly become as welcoming to him as the birdsong and gentle breezes of the Shire.

There were so many Elves, either laughing, singing, or talking excitedly with newly-arrived kin, that Sam wondered how he would ever find Mr. Frodo (if he yet lived), or anyone who remembered him.

“Samwise,” Erestor said softly, pointing.  Sam watched as the smiling crowd parted and someone stepped forward.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried joyously.  He broke free of Erestor’s hand and started to run.  As he reached the bottom of the ramp, Frodo was in his arms, laughing and crying and murmuring his name over and over.  Those nearby watched the reunion with smiling faces.

“Oh,” Sam gasped at last, wiping his wet face.  “Why, you look just fine, sir!  This place agrees with you, and no mistake.”

“It certainly does,” Frodo laughed, “and it will agree with you, as well, Sam.  My dear Sam.”

With Frodo’s strong arms still around him, Sam looked around and noticed that the Elves were surrounding them.

“What’re they all doing, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked puzzled.

“They wish to welcome you.”  So saying, Frodo stepped back, leaving Sam standing alone.  As one, the multitude of Elves bowed deeply to the friend of their beloved Frodo of whom they had heard so much, paying due honor to the last of the Ringbearers.

“Great glory and splendor,” Sam murmured, blushing.

“Great glory indeed,” Frodo agreed, rejoining his friend.  “But now, Samwise Gamgee,” he said with a smile, “I’ll bet you’re hungry.”  He led Sam to where a smiling Elf lady stood nearby, next to a grey horse.  “Let me show you our home, and we can have a good, long talk.  And Bilbo very much wants to see you again.”

“Mr. Bilbo is here?” Sam asked in amazement.  “I never dreamed he still would be, sir.”

“He is here,” Frodo said softly, “although perhaps not for much longer.”  The Elf lifted Frodo, then Sam, onto the horse’s back, then mounted behind them.

As they rode, Sam gazed with pleasure at the green, gentle land, and the way the air itself seemed to sparkle before his dazzled eyes.  He half wondered (and would, for some time to come) if he was inside another dream and would soon wake.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Some days later, as evening darkened and the stars glittered overhead, Gandalf made his preparations for a display of fireworks that would dazzle and amaze.

Elves who dwelt near the simple hobbit hole in which Frodo and Bilbo (and now Sam) lived in peace, gathered on the nearby hills and lawns.  Others across the island, alerted to what was to come, found a place to wait and watch.

“May we join you, my friends?”

“Of course!”  Frodo and Sam made room for Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían on the large blanket they shared.  Sam gazed with pleasure at the tiny infant in the Lady’s arms.

“Can you guess her name, Samwise?” Celebrían asked, her voice musical and sweet to the hobbit’s ears.

“My Lady, I hardly know what name could grace such a gorgeous lass,” Sam said, gently touching the infant’s silky-soft face.

“Sam,” Frodo said, “this is Elanor.”

“Truly?” Sam beamed with joy.  “I do love that name, Mr. Frodo.”

“I know!” Frodo laughed.  He saw Gandalf nod to him, and he reached over to gently touch Bilbo’s shoulder.  The ancient hobbit, sitting propped up against Gildor, opened his eyes and smiled at Frodo.

“Gandalf is ready, Bilbo dear.”

And so the magnificent display began, in splendor and enchantment.  For the Elves, Gandalf rekindled the Two Trees; for a moment only, they bloomed once more, giving forth a pure, radiant Light that set all who saw them to weeping.  For Frodo and Sam, the wizard's art unfolded their beloved Shire, a land once again whole and beautiful.  And for Bilbo, whom only Gandalf knew would not see another birthday, there were mountains -- the mountains of Middle-earth which the old hobbit had loved so dearly, and the mountains of Aman, which no hobbit would ever see -- each range and peak more spectacular than the last.

As the fireworks exploded over the heads of the inhabitants of the Lonely Isle, Sam lay back and sighed with contentment.  Try as he might, he could not summon up any feelings of doubt or uncertainty, or any wistful longing for the life he had left behind.  He had been called, and had come, but he had not expected the lands to the West to so quickly feel like home.

But they did.

** END **