Chapter : Coming Home

Frodo was building again. He didn't know exactly what he wanted, but this did not trouble him. Gone was any desire to have a hobbit hole fashioned exactly after those in the Shire.

Only a week before, he had watched Celebrían in her garden, and he was baffled by the intricate design of climbers and creepers and small ground flowers that all wove together in both a carpet and tapestry of brilliant, joyful colour.

"How did you plan the garden," he asked, fascinated. "How could anyone bring together such harmony in so many colours and breadth and height -- in big and small..."

Celebrían laughed merrily and stepped over the small, star-like blooms gathered about her feet. "I did not plan it, Frodo. I could not force living things to bend to my will as if I were their master."

"Then how..." Frodo shook his head, perplexed.

"I work with the plants," said Celebrían softly. "Over time I learn how they grow in this place and I add as it seems good. Thus the plants and I work together."

"Weaving together like a tapestry," murmured Frodo staring up at the creepers that spread rampant joy over the stone wall.

oOo

Later that day, on one of his many walks on the beach, Frodo found two shells that were much alike in colour and shape. Clearly they each had been made by the same kind of creature. However, when he looked at them closely, he found small differences in the ridges and shading of colour. One had clearly been longer in the making for it was a little larger and there was a greater variation in the patterns of colour.

When he was sure that no creature still lived within, he took the shells with him and from that day on kept them close to him.

oOo

And Frodo built. The Elves who came to help him were the same ones who had built the hobbit hole. Frodo was a little disconcerted when they returned as if they had never left, ready to pick up where they had left off. He had imagined that they would think poorly of him when he didn't want to stay in the smial after their hard work. However, they laughed when he spoke of his concern.

"Bilbo likes it very much," they said. "It matters not who lives there. And we had never built a hobbit's hole before."

And so Frodo thanked them and told them of his new plans. They were intrigued.

oOo

Day by day, Frodo watched the crafters put his ideas into shape. Each morning Frodo would tell Celebrían his ideas, and she would translate them into Quenyan for the crafters. Frodo felt grateful, for his language learning was slow as he had felt uncomfortable around such lofty beings who were not bothered with such petty cares as he had, and who gave their lives to creating beauty.

Bilbo grew curious. Frodo, however, asked him not to visit, and Bilbo willingly moved back to his original rooms in the elven dwellings so that Frodo could work without an audience. Gandalf, Elrond and Galadrial also stayed away - it was only Celebrían who came and, at Frodo’s plea, gave advice and translations.

oOo

Time passed. Leaves grew golden and fresh green took their place. Tides flowed and ebbed. Frodo no longer felt the need for a clock nor did he care about the days. The elves built slowly. Sometimes they stopped altogether and did not come for a long time. Frodo built too, when there was some task that did not require great skill.

He took the scarf off now at each sundown and even, if he were in some deep shade, he could bear to push it up so it rested against his forehead until he came back out into the sunlight.

The moon quartered, grew dim and then, coming out from behind the sun, waxed to fullness. Each month, Frodo loved to sit by the strand and wait at sunset for the great heavy moon to lift into the sky - an impossibly large orange round that mirrored the sun.

Each day, Frodo walked about the growing house. He walked and thought and pondered. He changed his mind many times, but no-one was bothered. Indeed it was the opposite, for the elves delighted in seeing the quick, restless thoughts that flitted from one idea to another as only those from a mortal could do.

oOo

Sometimes, Frodo took to wandering about the city. While he was improving, he still had trouble speaking in Elvish, particularly Quenya, but he was learning the intricate ways of the city, the terraces and the gardens that, tucked in every little nook possible, continually delighted the explorer with their sudden appearance. Frodo delighted in finding these hidden ways and gardens, even more so when he understood that he was not intruding -- for elves did not guard their gardens as private places and indeed took pleasure when anyone came, sat and enjoyed.

On one such rambling walk, Frodo found himself in a covered walkway. It was made of stone, yet the pillars and the overhead vaulting were so delicate that he did not feel as if he were surrounded by a heavy stone structure. Willow trees hung their branches over the walkway. Vines twined around the pillars, and roses crept up trellises so that the open walkway seemed verily walled in living green. Overhead, the open areas between the thin ribs of vaulting were covered with a myriad of rich hues: many small panes of coloured glass shone with sunlight so that the pathway was dappled with shifting, shimmering jewels of blue, golden yellow, green and red.

Frodo felt as if he were walking into a hushed world of colour. He did not know how long he stood there until Celebrían was beside him.

"Such beauty," he said, and Celebrían smiled.

"Yes," she said. "I remember when this was built, soon after I arrived here."

Frodo gazed at her, remembering what she had told him of her story. "Did it bring you comfort?" he asked.

"It did," she said. "My world was grey, and this brought colour." Then her voice changed. "Come with me," she said. "You have not been to see a mallorn wood since you first came here. I know that Bilbo has asked you, yet you have stayed away."

"I was not ready," he said. "The mallorns would have reminded me too much of Sam's tree in the Party Field, and of Lorien."

"And now?" she asked.

"I will come," Frodo said.

oOo

It was not a long walk to the wood as they were already near the edge of Avallónë. It was late afternoon and the sun was low. The soft golden light slanted in through the trees and the very air seemed soft and glowing. Bilbo was with them, unusually quiet.

Slowly they walked and the trees grew a little closer together. The light faded and gently gave way to shadow. As evening came on, they neared a small, slow stream. As they watched, tiny points of light rose up around the banks and floated about. Wonderingly, Frodo raised a hand and one landed on his finger.

"Fireflies," he said softly, marvelling.

"Why so surprised, lad?" asked Bilbo, speaking for the first time. "We had them in the Shire."

"We did," said Frodo, "but it seemed so long ago. When we returned to the Shire, the land had been so polluted and so much laid waste that the fireflies were gone. Even after a lot was cleaned up, I did not see any return. I hope that one day they will." He looked at the firefly as it wandered off his finger and up into the air. "I never thought I'd see one again."

"They will return. I am sure of it," Bilbo said.

Frodo nodded and looked away from them. Bilbo and Celebrían waited, and when Frodo seemed to be himself again, they crossed the stream.

As they went on, Gandalf came towards them. Not saying a word, he turned and walked with them. Frodo wondered at this but did not ask.

It was dark under the trees now, but Frodo had no difficulty in seeing. He had long since abandoned the scarf. Whether he still had some vestiges of the keen sight he had gained from the Ring, or whether there was some kind of light that belonged to the trees themselves, it seemed to him that the woods gave its own low shimmer. More streams must have been nearby for he saw lazily drifting points of light throughout the trees.

And then the singing began. A high, clear voice came as if from a distance through the trees. Frodo could not understand the words, but the voice itself spoke of questioning and discovering.

They walked further into the woods. Two more voices joined the first ones and they added tones of fear and resolve. Yet even though the mood shifted, the voices were still remote and beautiful.

Frodo found his heart beating a little faster. When Elrond joined them, he hardly felt surprised. And as Elrond came, a fourth voice added a calming, healing note.

They walked on. Now several voices joined, each with a unique timbre and mood. What struck Frodo was that even as the voices came together, they kept their original tone and feeling, whether it be lighter or sombre. Yet they were in harmony even if at times there was some slight dissonance. Frodo found himself waiting for the next voice and what it would bring.

It brought discordance and chaos, pain and loss. Frodo shuddered and he looked at the others, but they all looked forward and walked on. Bilbo, however, took Frodo's hand.

How could something bring fear to his heart when the sounds were still of great beauty? The voices that had come early still continued in their softer, gentler melodies, and even the new, powerful, darker voice blended with the choir skillfully so that it was clear that it belonged. It was a part of the chorus.

They walked on. Frodo wanted to stop his ears and not listen, and yet the music was compelling. It pulled him in even as he feared to hear more. It spoke to him, as if to him alone. Even though four others walked alongside him, he felt as if they were only hearing the music. They were not a part of it, not embraced by it.

And then, up ahead, Frodo saw the trees thinning and then stopping at a glade. As they walked through into that clearing, a multitude of voices broke into gladness and a triumphant crescendo and Frodo saw Galadriel standing in the moonlight.

Moved by a sudden impulse, he rushed to her and knelt at her feet, his head bowed. But no sooner had he done so, she took his hand and bade him rise.

"Look about you, Ring-bearer," she said, and she swept her free arm around. Frodo looked and saw many elves step through the trees singing. As he wondered, all fell silent save one: the very first singer whose voice was a joy and who sang of adventure and wonder.

"What is all of this?" Frodo asked. "I do not understand."

"Do you not?" asked Galadriel.

And then Frodo understood. "No," he said. "I don't want this. I don't want the Elves to honour me." He tried to back away, but Galadriel did not let go.

"Does this change you, Frodo, as a person, that they choose to honour you," Galadriel asked, her voice rich and low.

"Well, no," Frodo stammered. "But it feels strange and unfitting."

Galadriel looked into his eyes. Frodo breathed deeply in as if to make ready to withstand an onslaught. But then he suddenly let go his breath and his shoulders bowed meekly.

"You were brought here, Frodo, to heal," said Galadriel gently. "The deeds you did earned you a place in lore and history, and it earned you love from many.

"You were brought here to heal, and to understand yourself -- yourself and your place in Arda. You are many things, Frodo. You are little, as we all are little, and you, in your own way, are great, as many have been great before you. You are the Ring-bearer. You are Bronwe athan Harthad. Those names are a part of you, but they do not contain you."

Frodo looked up at her. "Aragorn charged me to avoid pride. I do not think of myself as deserving praise, and I also do not wish for praise because I am mindful of that charge. What, then, should I do?"

Galadriel knelt before him. "Then do not think of yourself as great, Frodo. It would ill become you, and it would not be true for you, I think. Yet you can live amongst those who would honour you and still remain true to yourself. And so, I and Celebrían have brought you here to learn this lesson, for your natural humility would not have led you here alone.

"Listen, then, Frodo and allow the Elves to honour you. They do not change who you are, yet they show their own thoughts freely in song. And look! Those who have built for you are here. You do not know them as friends, but they know you and hold you highly in esteem. And yet they are willing to offer simple friendship, unhampered by admiration or worship. As a good friend said to you not long ago, it is wise to allow Elves to celebrate according to Elves, for I assure you that they will never do otherwise!"

And so Frodo listened. And while he did not change in his own thoughts, he began to listen unfettered by old distress. And once he did so, he could listen and learn of the Elves' ways and thoughts with clarity and see the freely offered friendship that spoke of no expectation or need.

oOo

And at last, one day more than a year after he had begun, Frodo bade all his friends come to him and he took them to his new home on the edge of Avallónë. The house was on the same cliff in which the hobbit hole had been built -- indeed the hole was a part of the new dwelling.

Bilbo looked around him with delight. "The worthies of Hobbiton might have had a few things to say about this, Frodo my lad, but lucky for us, they're not here!"

Everyone explored and Frodo and Celebrían followed quietly.

There were two slim structures that reached back into the gently sloping hill side. At the back, each turned inward as if to complete the shape of a horseshoe. And yet they did not touch, for there was an open space arched over by a rounded lintel. Indeed all the doors and windows were rounded at the top. While there were no wholly round hobbit doors, there were few sharp angles. Even all the corners of the house, inward and outward, were rounded

Through this arched passage way, to one side, bubbled a small stream. Rocks bordered its bed as it meandered through the courtyard and danced over steps that led it out to its original path down the cliffside. The structures themselves did not match. They were both of the cream-white stone that made most of the dwellings in Avallónë, but they were of differing heights. On the left side there were two levels each tall enough for elves and wizards to enter within. Here, Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond looked about with approval. But the right side was built to suit hobbits, for each storey was shorter and the steps were smaller. After a cursory glance at the Elven side, Bilbo looked up at the arched passage-way. He then came to a halt, intrigued.

"And where should I go now, Frodo?" Bilbo said with some amusement. "You seem to have built in paths for exploring and choices your visitors must make. How unhobbit-like! How delightful!"

The reason for Bilbo's halting was the verandah. It ran around the second story of the Elven side, but it then became a small bridge as it crossed over the arched passage way at the back. As it neared the hobbit side, however, it split into two half flights of steps. One small flight led down to the lower second story (for the second hobbit level was, by necessity, lower than the Elven side) and then it became a verandah similar to that on the other side. A full set of steps led down into the courtyard.

The second half-flight of steps, however, led up from the bridge onto the flat-topped roof. Bilbo eagerly climbed the courtyard stairs and then, puffing slightly, managed the last flight. Frodo followed and found Bilbo looking around him. A low wall edged the roof and trellises adorned the roof. New flowers grew in wooden planters and the beginnings of vines and creepers were inching their way up the trellises.

Bilbo took Frodo's arm. "And what will you do up here this far above ground?” he asked. “What would Sam think?"

"I will look at the stars," Frodo said, smiling. "See these low beds of wood? I shall bring blankets and I shall lie here and look at the stars. I will listen to the waves, and I will think."

Bilbo squeezed Frodo's arm. "That's my lad," he said.

They came back down the stairs and met the big folk on the verandah on the second floor of the hobbit side. The rooms that the veranda led to were the same width as the building itself, and Frodo's own bedroom was the foremost. This room had three outside walls, all of which had large doorways (to the inward veranda and to the forward balcony) or windows (to the outer view from the building). Each door and window was shuttered with well-fitted moveable wooden slats.

As they all crowded in, Frodo threw all the shutters wide open. The effect was that of a room opened to the air and to the sea -- the waves could be both seen and heard. The remaining walls were at the corners of the room and seemed more like pillars. Bilbo gasped, and Frodo felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Elrond smiling.

Metal-wrought staircases led from the second floors of both the Elven and Hobbit sides down into the centre courtyard. Artisans had wrought delicate strands of metal into flowing vines and trees so that the shimmering light stuff seemed alive and growing. Frodo led everyone down back into the courtyard.

The courtyard was on a slight slope. While the stream wended its way along the left side, there were flowers and steps and flagstones on the right, and even a fire-pit ringed with a myriad of brightly-coloured tiles no wider than the length of a hobbit's thumb.

Comfortable wooden chairs were scattered in a rough circle around the fire pit. However, smaller chairs were always one step higher than the larger stairs, and the steps themselves were shallow. Gandalf sat down in one of the larger chairs.

"It seems that your love of campfires has not dimmed," he said. "Dare I guess that many a story will be told around this fireplace?"

Frodo laughed. "Yes. And I hope that all of you will come here often and tell stories and share songs."

"You should understand Elves well enough by now," Elrond answered, "to know that they need no reason to stop and sing and tell stories. You may have difficulty in keeping them away."

"Then I will be content," said Frodo.

Further back into the courtyard was a small table. At one end facing the sea, an inclined writing surface rested in grooves in the top of the table. Clearly it could be slid out along the grooves and removed if the table were needed for other purposes. Bilbo fingered this with great interest, but only gave Frodo a quick grin before he rejoined the others.

Finally, at the front of the courtyard there was a steep grassy slope with rose creepers trailing colour down to the very door of the hobbit hole in the bank that Frodo had built more than a year before.

Bilbo laughed. All of Frodo's guests had gathered together again after rambling around the place. "You're not just a hobbit any more, my lad," he said. "Even with the smial here, no hobbit would like that second floor or that roof!"

Frodo smiled. "Yes, I am, Uncle. I'm just a hobbit. But I am also Frodo, a hobbit who loves the sea, who loves stargazing -- a hobbit who likes nothing more than to tell stories around a fire outdoors, to wake up to the sound of the waves and who only needs to sit up in bed to see them -- a hobbit whose dearest friends are elves and a wizard, as well as his own kind."

Celebrían knelt before him. "A hobbit of many names, you are. And yet the most important name is Frodo. And when the elves call you Iorhael, behold! They are using your own name alone in their own language, unadorned by roles or titles."

"Thank you," Frodo said fervently. He looked up at the house. "Yes. I am Frodo, and here I can be Iorhael too. Perhaps I can deserve to be named Elf-friend once again in days to come. Here I can be who I have become, and do all of the things I have come to love.

"Finally I am home."

The End