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(Written for the 2015 July Fixed-Length-Ficlet Challenge for the GFic Community.)
He couldn't recall arriving in Rivendell; his last memory was his sword suddenly breaking in his hand as he shouted defiance across the Ford. He had been carried in by someone, he knew not who. He had wakened to the welcome sight of Gandalf at his side, the memory of several days absent from his mind.
Then came the Council and his rash claiming of a Quest he was certain would be the death of him. When he left Rivendell he would have twice as many companions as he had come with.
So after a time of recovery was departure: he simply walked out of Rivendell of his own free will.
He remembered his arrival in the Black Land. Sick from captivity, spider poison, burdened by orc armour, he and Sam simply walked into Mordor of their own free wills.
Step by step, time went by and he remembered less and less of that trek, until Gollum appeared on the side of Mount Doom. To his everlasting shame, he could vividly remember his claiming of the Ring. Yet it was destroyed in spite of him.
Of his departure from Mordor, he recalled nothing. He was carried away by Eagles, they told him. He wakened to the incredible sight of Gandalf at his side, the memory of several days absent from his mind.
He arrived at the Grey Havens fully aware of where he was. Once more he was fleeing—this time from a life he could never have. The smell of the Sea was almost familiar, though he had never been there before. But he was arriving only to depart once more.
He spoke his farewells to those he loved, and turned away to the Grey Ship.
Once they were upon the Straight Path, his memories of the journey grew dim and faint, but he remembered very well his arrival at the Blessed Isle.
He walked down the gangplank, the comforting presence of Gandalf at his side, as he began his new life.
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