Sam’s quote is from from ROTK, ‘The Tower of Cirith Ungol’.  This chapter brings back Arnen, an Elf of Imladris from my story “Return to Rivendell”.

THE PATH TO HEALING

Chapter 4  -- A Gift of Friendship 

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it.  Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so.  ‘A Short Rest’, The Hobbit

Frodo came to the surface, coughing, which brought Arnen and Erestor swimming quickly to his side.

“It’s all right,” Frodo told them, treading water.  “Mellon is just being a mother-hen.”  He coughed a bit more, then sat on Mellon’s back so he could rest for a few minutes.

The two Elves relaxed, realizing that Frodo must have breathed in some water not because he was in trouble, but because he was laughing -- initiated by the great hound pulling him up to the surface again.  She now stood calmly in the surf, her majestic head well above the water level.

“Now that I’m willing to try swimming underwater, she won’t let me!” Frodo said.  “She must sense my fear.”

“Your guardian is vigilant,” Erestor grinned, scratching the dog behind her wet ears.  “Have you tried explaining what you are attempting to do?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Frodo realized.  He leaned forward and put his arms around the dog’s neck.  “Mellon, you must let me try this,” he whispered.  “Gandalf said that if I’m truly in distress, you will know it.”  He reentered the water, and the massive hound stared at Frodo, seeming to weigh the hobbit’s words.  The two Elves watched in awe as she stepped backwards, slightly away from Frodo.

“All right then,” Frodo murmured.  He took a deep breath, and pushed himself under the crystal-clear waters once again.  Mellon watched carefully, but did not interfere.

“Is Frodo truly frightened of water this calm and shallow?” Arnen wondered aloud.  He watched as the small form moved slowly along the Sea bottom, where multi-colored fish swam around him.  “I do not believe that Lord Ulmo’s wrath would ever strike these shores.”

“Gandalf told me that his parents drowned when he was but a child,” Erestor explained.  “Frodo finds the memory of that sad time difficult to release.”

“Alas, loss is one wound that even Time itself cannot always heal,” Arnen said softly.  “But the years soften and gentle even the darkest of times, and our good memories sustain us.”  He smiled.  “I find myself continuing to use the name ‘Gandalf’, as well.  He seems not to mind.”

“He does not,” Erestor assured his friend.  “He has been ‘Gandalf’ to many of us – including the hobbits – for all our lives.”

Mellon grew suddenly restive, and at that moment, Frodo’s head broke the surface.

“It’s so beautiful down there,” Frodo grinned, flinging his wet curls out of his face.  “But that’s enough for today; I think I’m getting hungry.”

“You did well,” Erestor said approvingly.  He and Arnen accompanied Frodo to the beach, while Mellon dashed off to chase seagulls.  “Each day you grow bolder.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said.  “You and your friends have been so kind, taking me out in your boats and showing me the island... I certainly need to learn to be more comfortable in the water.”  he laughed suddenly.  "When I saw the shortened swimming-breeches among the garments Lady Celebrían made me, I never dreamed I would be spending so much time in them!"

He and the Elves sat on the blanket he had brought, and Frodo passed out sandwiches and small cakes from his basket.

“Thank you, Frodo; this is delicious,” Arnen remarked appreciatively, and Erestor nodded his agreement.

“Bilbo is a wonderful cook,” Frodo enthused.  “Now that we have time to bake, I hope to be able to share more with the others.  Everyone has been so helpful, I need to find ways to thank them.”  His eyes grew wet with happy tears.  “Just what did Lady Eärwen say to your folk?  Every morning, Bilbo and I awaken to gifts of furniture, books, cloth, grain, honey... our gardens are just bulging with new seed and blooms, and we now have storehouses and a chicken coop and--”

“Lady Eärwen, Galadriel, and Gandalf spoke at length in the Great Hall at Avallónë,” Erestor told him.  “They spoke of your generous spirit, and that there was nothing to fear from you and Bilbo – a fact that a few of us had tried to convey, to little effect.”

“You see, Frodo,” Arnen smiled, “even Elves fear that which they do not understand.  Our folk are wary of change.”

“Yes,” Erestor agreed.  “Frodo, I was told that even when the Eagles came to Tol Eressëa to tell of your deeds, few here were able to believe that such had been accomplished by a mortal – especially one from a race about which so little was known.”

“The Eagles came here?” Frodo asked.  “Like they did in Minas Tirith?”

“Indeed,” Erestor said.  “While we voyaged, they spread the news of the destruction of the Ring, and the ascension of Aragorn, descendant of Elros, to the kingship.  It is a mighty tale.”

“Now that so many have met with you, and learned your true and generous spirit, there is no more doubt.”  Arnen smiled and pointed to the Sea before him, which was thick with boats and swimmers.

Frodo was amazed at how quickly things had changed.  When he and Bilbo arrived on Tol Eressëa, this beautiful beach near their home had been deserted.  He had thought there were few Elves living nearby, but now realized that they had just been keeping their distance, watching and waiting.

“Everyone has been so kind and thoughtful,” Frodo marveled.  He had hoped to make friends here, and not feel alone, but the companionship that now surrounded him and Bilbo was nearly overwhelming.  Many Elves regularly came to the hobbits’ small home not just to visit with Frodo, or lend a willing hand in carpentry, landscaping, or planting, but to regale Bilbo with the most wonderful tales.  The old hobbit was delighted, but Frodo sensed that the Elves were equally pleased.  To have fresh, willing ears to hear all that they had to tell of their histories and trials... Bilbo was hearing enough to fill as many books as he cared to write, and he had begun to compose poetry again.

A burst of laughter and song came from a nearby boat, and Frodo’s eyes lit with joy.  Most of the Elves he had known, in Rivendell or Lothlórien, had been rather solemn, their songs and eyes filled with a measure of sadness and a certain fading that he understood.  But here on Tol Eressëa... Here, at last, were the Elves of Bilbo’s earliest stories – those who laughed and teased, sang, danced, and feasted -- and seemed to have cast off any weight of evil or dark memories on their hearts.  He and Bilbo heard faint music drifting through the air each evening, as they fell into sleep, and received more invitations to feasts, walks, fruit-gathering expeditions, and sailing trips than they could possibly accept.  He loved the sailing ships so much...

“What are you thinking about?” Erestor asked, captivated by their small friend’s expressive face.

“Elves, and... our journey here.  Travelling on the ship must have been even stranger for you, than for me.”

“Do you think so?” Arnen asked.

Frodo nodded, setting out a large plate of food for Mellon.  The dog at once came bounding over.

“The water was ever-dancing, and the wind capricious,” Frodo continued, “whereas you were both used to the calm, ordered flow of weather and scenery of Rivendell.”

“The Shire is also rather calm and ordered,” Erestor said.

“Yes,” Frodo smiled, “but I have dreamed of the Sea all my life.”

“And so, what do you think of it, my friend?” Erestor asked curiously.

Frodo looked up at the Elf, blue eyes sparkling and his face radiant.

“I love it.”

“As do we,” Arnen said softly, and Erestor nodded.  “The Sea has long called to us, and at last we are home.”

After awhile, Frodo started packing up the basket.  “I need to do some weeding this afternoon,” he said.

“Are you certain you do not wish more extensive gardens?” Arnen asked Frodo.  “Many would help you to maintain them.”

“Even hobbit appetites, and so many delightful guests, can’t keep up with all the vegetables and fruits that will soon be surrounding our house!” Frodo laughed.  “Sam shared with me something he realized, when the Ring was trying to tempt him to claim it.  He said that ‘one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command’.”

“Plain hobbit sense,” came an amused voice from behind them.  “There is nothing quite like it.”

“Hello, Gandalf,” Frodo smiled up at his friend.

“Hello, Frodo,” Gandalf said quietly.  “I wanted to let you know that you may expect a visitor this evening.”

“Who is it?” Frodo asked.  “You seem very serious.”

“Someone wishes to speak with you... privately.  He has not felt comfortable approaching you before now.”

“Why wouldn’t he feel comfortable?” Frodo asked.  “Everyone seems so friendly.”

“And they truly are your friends,” Gandalf assured him.  “You need not question that, ever again.  No, this is a very special Elf, one who has been to the Halls of Mandos and back.”

Frodo stared at Gandalf, wide eyed.  “Like Glorfindel?”

“Yes, exactly like Glorfindel.  His name is Celebrimbor.”

“You mean the one who...”  Frodo gasped with wonder.  “The Celebrimbor who created the rings?”  He instinctively looked at Gandalf’s hand, where Narya had been visible all through the voyage West.  “Where is your ring?”

“That is part of what he wishes to discuss with you.”

** TBC **