Epilogue 2: Happily Ever After

toujours gai, toujours gai
- mehitabel

"Whoa! Hold up there, little one!" Frodo staggered backwards as a tiny hobbit ran full-tilt into his legs then, bouncing off, landed hard on his bottom. For a moment the faunt seemed ready to burst into tears, but in the end just put his thumb in his mouth and stared solemnly up at Frodo. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, eh?" Frodo asked as he picked him up, dusted him off, and set back him on his feet. "There you are, lad, good as new!" He knelt down so that he was eye-to-eye with the youngster and smiled reassuringly. "Now then, I don’t think you came to the party by yourself, so let’s go find your mama and papa, shall we?"

At that moment a voice called out, "Hammie! Come back this instant, you naughty boy!"

Frodo stiffened; he recognized the voice instantly though twelve years had passed since he heard it last.

It was Hyacinth. Threading her way through the crowds of revelers she hastened toward them, scolding all the while. "Shame on you for running away from Mummy and almost knocking over that poor gentlehobbit…I’m so sorry sir, I—" She broke off with a surprised exclamation as she caught up to them and got her first clear look at Frodo.

She paused, at a momentary loss, then quickly recovering she stooped to pick up her son and straightened again. "Hello Frodo…forgive me, I didn’t see at first that it was you. And please excuse Hammie…he’s at that age when he just starts running for the fun of it, and if someone doesn’t catch him there’s no telling when or where he’ll stop…"

Frodo stood up hastily, brushing the grass off his breeches. "Hello, Hyacinth. Please don’t give it another thought. I have scores of cousins who act the same way—and some of them are much older than your little one."

Her composure now fully restored, Hyacinth smiled at him. "I’m delighted to see you, Cousin! Please accept my congratulations on your coming of age."

Several more hobbit children had been trailing behind their mother, and were now peering shyly at Frodo from behind her skirts. "This is my eldest, Donnabella," said Hyacinth, indicating a pretty lass of eleven or twelve, "and the twins, Otto and Orlando. And, of course, little Hammie—Hamilton, that is—you’ve already met! Children, say hello to your Cousin Frodo…it’s his birthday, and Uncle Bilbo’s, that we’re here to celebrate tonight."

"Pleased to meet you, Cousin Frodo," they chorused. She frowned at them expectantly, until Donnabella quickly added, "And many happy returns!"

"Thank you, my dear!" smiled Frodo. "What lovely children you have!" he said to Hyacinth, even as he wondered where Coronel was.

"They are my most precious treasures." She gazed proudly at them, then said to her daughter, "Donna, why don’t you take your brothers over to the table where Granny and Gran’dad are sitting? I’ll be along directly, after I’ve finished speaking with Cousin Frodo."

"All right, Mummy." Donnabella dipped a polite curtsey to Frodo, then took Hammie from her mother and barked at the others, "Come on then, you heard Mum!"

After the children had gone, Frodo and Hyacinth stood silent for a long moment, looking at one another.

Bearing four babes had cost Hyacinth the slender figure of her youth, but her movements were as graceful as ever and her voluptuous curves had a warm sensuality that Frodo found quite… striking. Her luxurious auburn tresses were now demurely pinned up, and the first strands of silver gleamed amid the burnished copper. While her face had lost none of its delicate beauty, time had etched fine lines around her eyes and mouth and care had creased her brow. But the passing years had failed to diminish the light in her eyes, and her gaze, as it met his own, still had the power to steal Frodo’s breath away.

If Hyacinth had once thought that Frodo possessed a certain waifish charm, she now saw that this early promise had reached its full flowering. His features, which had had an unfinished quality as he teetered on the cusp between childhood and tweens, had finally knit together into a harmonious and highly pleasing whole. His dark curls were still long and unruly, but now seemed to frame his face most attractively rather than hiding it. His gaze had a directness she had never observed in the past; the gentleness and sensitivity she had seen that day in the garden were still there, but strengthened by a quiet self-possession. His build had caught up to his height and though still slim, he no longer looked like a strong wind would snap him in half…in fact he had filled out rather nicely, she thought. His soft Bucklander lilt had all but disappeared, to be replaced by the cultured accent of the Westfarthing gentry.

"You’re looking well, Frodo."

"And you, Hyacinth…you’re even lovelier than when I saw you last."

She gave a skeptical laugh, but her cheeks colored slightly. "And you’re just as sweet-tongued! Surely you’re too young for your eyes to be failing, but I thank you just the same." Then her smile faded and a pensive look came over her face. "Can it really be twelve years…" She seemed to hesitate, then said in a rush, "Frodo, I’m sorry I never wrote to thank you for the story you sent me, but I…I wasn’t certain that I ought…or even if you’d want me to."

Frodo swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly gone dry. So we come to it… "No thanks were expected," he replied, careful to keep his voice steady, "but I do hope that it pleased you."

Her mouth twisted in something between a grimace and a smile. "Oh, yes…it was a charming fairy story."

"A fairy story?" faltered Frodo, his calm demeanor slipping. "I—I didn’t intend it as such…it’s what I imagined to be true. I was right, wasn’t I?"

Hyacinth looked away.

"But it did have a happy ending…?" Frodo pressed anxiously.

Before Hyacinth could answer, Frodo heard an equally familiar—though less welcome—voice hailing him, and turned to find himself face to face with Coronel Took.

While Coronel’s good looks had not deserted him, their effect was somewhat spoiled by a florid complexion and prominent paunch, both hinting at a penchant for excess. He was clearly in his cups. "Well well well, if it isn’t young Frodo! Or Mister Baggins I should say, now that you’re all grown up and come of age!"

If he tousles my hair, I’ll kill him, thought Frodo.

But Coronel only beamed at him with ale-soaked benevolence and said, "Many happy returns, lad! Still writing poetry?"

"No," said Frodo curtly.

"No? That’s a pity, you had a real talent for it."

"Cory!" exclaimed Hyacinth, aghast. If looks could kill, he would have been struck down as he stood.

"Don’t be silly my dear, we’re all adults here and I’m sure Frodo bears no hard feelings over that silly little prank…all’s fair in love, eh?"

Frodo said nothing. He wondered at himself that he did not feel angrier with Coronel, but what he mostly felt was sympathy for Hyacinth’s obvious chagrin.

There was an awkward silence, during which the band could be heard playing a sprightly ländler. At that moment a pretty young hobbit-maid with bouncing golden curls and rosy cheeks ran up to them. "Fro–do!" she trilled happily. "I’ve been looking all over for you."

"Hello, Buttercup," Frodo replied without enthusiasm. He turned to the others. "Hyacinth, Coronel, please allow me to present Miss Buttercup Boffin of the Overhill Boffins. Buttercup, this is Mr. Coronel Took of the Great Smials and his wife, Hyacinth."

The lass gave a perfunctory curtsey and said, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir and madam," before quickly turning back to Frodo. "Have you forgotten that you promised to dance the ländler with me, Frodo?"

"Ah…no, of course not…and I will be delighted to honor that commitment, just as soon as I have finished speaking with the Tooks," Frodo politely demurred.

"But you dance it better than anyone else here, most of the lads can’t keep from stepping on my toes," she pouted. When it became clear that Frodo would not relent, she sulkily moved off a few paces to watch the dancers.

Coronel followed her with his eyes, then turned to Frodo and winked suggestively. "You’re a lucky hobbit, Frodo…young, well situated, unattached…what more could a fellow ask?"

Frodo looked at him steadily, until Coronel’s smile faltered and his eyes dropped. "It’s you who are the lucky one, Coronel," he said quietly.

Coronel blinked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before looking guiltily at his wife. "Oh! Er—yes, of course," he mumbled.

Buttercup, still watching the twirling dancers, gave a histrionic sigh and glanced over at Frodo reproachfully.

"If there’s one thing I can’t bear to see, it’s a damsel in distress," declared Coronel firmly. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "In my day I could dance a rather neat ländler myself, Miss Boffin…perhaps could I be of some service, if you’re willing to give it a go with an old codger like me?"

Buttercup giggled. "Oh Mr. Took, you’re not so old as all that! How sweet of you to offer," she added with a pointed look at Frodo.

"By your leave, my dear?" Coronel called over his shoulder to Hyacinth, then without waiting for a reply he gripped Buttercup tightly about the waist and danced away with her.

Once again Frodo and Hyacinth were left standing alone together. Their eyes met for a moment before Hyacinth bowed her head, as if ashamed.

"I’m sorry," Frodo murmured, thinking how inadequate his words sounded.

Hyacinth looked up quickly and smiled, though her eyes were over-bright. "Don’t be," she said briskly. "What was that you said the day we met? I can bear the gossip but not the pity…"

"Something like that," said Frodo, startled that she remembered.

"It’s not as if I walked into this with my eyes shut," continued Hyacinth. "But I thought that I could change him, or that faunts would…" she gave a short, bitter laugh. "Even before we were wed it was clear that a cow was more likely to jump over the Moon than he to mend his ways. During my confinement he shamelessly chased anything in a skirt at Longbottom Manor…and even a few not in skirts, if the rumors be true," she added.

Frodo stared at her, shocked. "Then why did you go through with it?"

"Well, there was the babe, of course. And…I did love him—still love him," she said softly, no longer trying to disguise the anguish in her voice. Seizing his hand, she looked up at him with a kind of pleading desperation. "Can you understand, Frodo? I had no say in the matter, really…my heart made its choice, and I could no other—no matter how much I might have wished it."

Frodo was silent for a long moment, struggling to control his own emotions. "Yes, I can understand," he said at last. Then he forced himself to ask the question that was tormenting him, both needing yet fearing to hear the answer. "Hyacinth, forgive me for asking, but I—I must know: was it the poems…?"

Hyacinth smiled sadly and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "No," she replied. "It wasn’t your poems that made me fall in love with him, though certainly I was pleased and flattered by them. In fact, after the truth of the matter came out, I rather thought I hated him! But just before we left Buckland, he came to say farewell. And I asked him once more why he’d deceived us both so wickedly. I’d asked him that day by the sundial, too, but he made no answer then, at least none that satisfied me. But on that last morning…he said it was his love for me that had made him do it. And I—I thought he must love me a great deal indeed to have been driven to such extreme measures!" She sighed. "I know it seems foolish now, but at the time I was more impressionable. And Coronel was good—very good—at making an impression."

"Don’t I know it," said Frodo bitterly.

"You were coming to see me that morning too, weren’t you?" said Hyacinth gently, releasing his hand at last.

Frodo simply nodded, not asking how she knew.

They both fell silent, thinking of scattered flowers on a path. And it seemed now that there was nothing more to say, so that when someone approached they stirred and moved away from each other, as if relieved to have the tension of the moment broken.

It was Merry, now a handsome and very self-assured young hobbit of nineteen. "There you are, Frodo, I—" He broke off when he saw his cousin’s face and asked worriedly, "I say, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I’m fine. Merry, you remember Cousin Hyacinth, don’t you?"

Merry started at the name. "Of course…pleased to meet you again, Madam." His manner was stiffly polite, but the look he flashed Hyacinth was less than friendly. He turned back to Frodo. "Bilbo’s looking for you…he says it’s almost time, whatever that means."

Before Frodo could reply, he was nearly bowled over for the second time that night as a small, hurtling hobbit careened into him at full speed. His assailant this time was a bright-eyed, impish lad of twelve with an extremely guilty expression. "Oh, sorry Frodo! Merry, you’ve got to hide me!"

"What have you done this time, Pip?" asked Merry with all the exasperated superiority of a teen.

"Nothing! Well, nothing much to speak of, that is…oh, I’ll tell you later Merry, but right now you’ve got to save me from your gaffer!"

Just then Rory’s voice came booming through the crowd. "Peregrin Took, you young scoundrel! Just wait till I get hold of you…!"

"All right, come on then," said Merry, trying to sound disapproving but unable to hide a grin. He looked back at Frodo, suddenly serious again. "You’re sure everything’s all right?"

"Quite sure, Mer."

Merry didn’t look convinced, but Pippin was tugging at him frantically. He turned to Hyacinth and bowed slightly, then hurried off with his cousin in tow.

Hyacinth watched them leave, smiling at a memory. "He’s still trying to protect you, I see," she said wryly.

"It was supposed to be the other way around, you know," recalled Frodo with a rueful laugh. "But Merry never really did need protecting—at least, not for very long. And now he can protect Pippin to his heart’s content…"

The music had stopped now and the crowd was calling for more, Coronel’s voice rising raucously above the rest. Hyacinth frowned. "I had better go and collect my husband before he makes a greater fool of himself than he already has!" She extended her hand rather formally and said with a tight smile, "Frodo, it was such a pleasure to see you again after all this time. Many happy returns to you!"

"Thank you, Hyacinth." He could find no more words than these, and releasing her hand, he started to turn away just as the musicians struck up another ländler. At the first notes he froze—the haunting melody trembled with yearning tenderness, piercing his soul. It was the Merry Widow.

His eyes met Hyacinth’s and then, without knowing quite how he came there, Frodo found himself back at her side. "May I have the honor of this dance, Mrs. Took?" he asked softly.

Hyacinth hesitated for a heartbeat, then replied, "I’d be delighted, Mr. Baggins."

He bowed, she curtseyed…then he took her in his arms and they whirled off across the floor. And it was just as in his dream: the world faded around them into a blur of lights and colors, the other dancers reduced to spinning shadows until there was no one else at all, just the two of them pressed close in the ländler’s sweet embrace…

The world, however, was still very much present and looking on with great interest; this was partly because the pair danced with such grace that they were a pleasure to watch. But some of the goodwives were scandalized. The young Master, making so bold as to dance with a married hobbit! Some of their outrage no doubt stemmed from the fact that Mr. Frodo had passed over their lovely and eligible daughters in favor of that shameless Hyacinth Took.

Their husbands laughed and nudged each other. "Let Cory get a bit of his own back, the old wife-poacher, and see how he likes it!" said one. Others just shrugged, being of the opinion that the future Master of Bag End was free to dance with whomever he jolly well pleased on his coming-of-age day.

The dancers had not escaped the notice of Coronel and Buttercup either, and they seemed none too pleased about it. Buttercup, in fact, looked quite put out that Frodo had turned her down only to dance with an old matron. For his part, Coronel was staring at Hyacinth as if he had not truly seen her for a long while.

Too soon, the dance ended in a flurry of applause. Frodo released Hyacinth and stepped back a reluctant pace or two. As she curtseyed she smiled at him, and this time it was genuine. "Thank you Frodo, that was lovely! You’ve made me feel like a lass again…" She paused, and looked at him questioningly.

Frodo wavered for a moment, suddenly shy and unsure as a young tween and painfully aware, now, of the crowd of curious onlookers. Then he smiled in return and, taking Hyacinth’s hand, he bowed over it and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingertips. He raised his eyes to hers. "Hyacinth, I—"

Suddenly Coronel was there, appearing markedly more sober than he had before. "Charming, very charming…I had forgotten what a lovely dancer you are, my dear! And you’ve learned a thing or two since I last saw you on a dance floor," he added with a sharp glance at Frodo. "Now if you’ll kindly excuse us, old boy, it’s time to round up the faunts…" He took Hyacinth by the elbow and began steering her away.

But Hyacinth suddenly stopped and pulled free of his grip. Ignoring Coronel’s look of displeasure, she ran back to Frodo, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Your story was wrong in this at least," she whispered. "Udo was never a fool." Then she was gone.

Frodo stood there still, the party swirling around him unheeded, and found himself thinking, unaccountably, of the first time he had laughed after his parents died. He had been horror-struck at the realization—having felt so sure he would never laugh again.

He tried to imagine them at the party tonight, celebrating his coming of age. Would they have been proud of me? he wondered, recalling Bilbo’s words in his letter—so long ago now, twelve years…

Twelve years might seem long to some…yet they matter little for those whose love is true…

His thoughts drifted then to that other birthday—was it really only twelve years ago?—when for the second time in his short life he had felt his world crumble around him…had seen his carefully reconstructed happiness vanish like the will o’ the wisp it was, leaving him alone once more. And it had seemed more than he could bear, more than anyone could bear, and he had stood as on the edge of an abyss, and gazed into the void, and felt its pull…

But somehow, just as with his parents’ deaths, he had borne it, had found it within himself to carry on with this business of living, and even to find pleasure again in doing so. Somewhere deep down, the darkness beckoned still, but as yet the pull of light and life was the stronger.

Over time he had even come to realize that there had been no betrayal, no abandonment on Hyacinth’s part, for indeed she had never claimed to love him, nor made him any promise. And he had taken some consolation—or "cold comfort" as Bilbo had put it—from his conviction that Hyacinth had found happiness in marrying her own true love, just as he had written in his story.

But her real story, it seemed, had had a different author. He felt a profound sense of disillusionment settling over him and sinking deep into his soul.

Does no one get their happy ending?

All his feelings of longing and grief, both past and present, were now flowing together until he could not have said whether it was for Hyacinth that he mourned, or for the older, deeper loss that would always be with him, or even for the loss that was yet to come but that drew nearer with each passing minute.

With a start, Frodo realized that the music had stopped. Everyone had gone quiet around him and he could hear Bilbo speaking:

My dear Bagginses and Boffins…

The words struck a sudden chill in his heart. Until now Bilbo’s talk of leaving had not seemed real; his planned disappearance no more than a lark, a whimsical prank. But now cold reality would not be denied: he was losing his family again, and would be left alone once more. For a moment he felt the darkness pressing in close...

But then he shook it off. He had come of age now, and must take his disappointments and sorrows as they came…just as Hyacinth surely had done for the sake of her children. He smiled faintly. This time there would be no fistfights or mushroom raids.

…and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses…

Perhaps, after all, this was what it truly meant to grow up: you carry on, do what you must—happy ending or no.

…Goodbodies, Brockhouses, and Proudfoots.

"ProudFEET!" someone shouted.

Frodo lifted his head, drew a deep breath, and steadily walked up to take his place at Bilbo’s side.

~ The End ~

Author’s notes:

Opening quote from archy and mehitabel by Don Marquis.

Bilbo’s speech excerpts from The Fellowship of the Ring.

To Marcel Proust for the hawthorns and lilacs, A.A. Milne for Princess Hyacinth, Prince Udo, and Coronel, C.S. Forester for Horatio Hornblower, Franz Lehàr for the Merry Widow Waltz, and Edmond Rostand for Cyrano de Bergerac; to all the poets whose work I borrowed; and to J.R.R. Tolkien for everything else: thanks and sorry.

To my readers and reviewers: thank you for letting me share my story with you. It’s truly been a pleasure.

And last but not least, a heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta…the story would not be what it is without you.