Rivendell. It was good to see the place and dear Bilbo again. It was healing and peaceful but somehow very sad in a quiet way that told of the passing of the Elves and the end of an age that Middle-earth would never see again. It seemed a place that was falling asleep and drifting away on graceful dreams.
Frodo understood this. He was drifting away, too. But not all his dreams were graceful, although their darkness was diminished by residing for a time in this place where the peace of an ancient people filled the earth, the sky, the flowing waters, and the gentle air. Long after the elves were gone that peace would still be there and only a greater and darker evil than they had faced could possibly begin to overwhelm it. He hoped that would never happen. Surely the evil of Sauron could not be repeated.
The evil.
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam’s voice broke into Frodo’s wandering thoughts . Frodo smiled. Sam would always call him Mr. Frodo, no matter what they had passed through together. Some things would never change and that made him glad.
“What is it, Sam?”
Sam sat next to Frodo on the parapet over-looking the whispering waters far below. The mist from the falls filled the rose-tinted air and a rainbow shimmered ephemerally behind Sam’s head. For a moment the beauty of it took Frodo’s breath away. It looked so ‘right’. Sam belonged to Middle-earth and all its simple glories. Sam belonged.
“What are you thinkin’ , Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked with his perpetual look of concern for Frodo in his dear, honest eyes.
Sam belonged.
“I’m not thinking of anything in particular, Sam. Or of everything.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, but you’ve been thinkin’ far too much, of late. Come down to hear the singin’ in the Hall of Fire. It’s more wonderful than ever now. I don’t think I will ever get enough of listening to the elves sing.”
Dear Sam. Didn’t he know the elves were leaving? That their voices would fade away and never be heard again. Sam knew but he didn’t feel it the way Frodo did. And Frodo couldn’t bear to diminish any of Sam’s joy that he so plainly felt amongst the elves.
“Perhaps I shall come down to the Hall in awhile, Sam.”
“You should. You’re alone almost all the time. Keepin’ to yourself. It isn’t good for you, Mr. Frodo. “
“I will come down soon.”
Frodo thought that Sam would now leave and go to join the gathering in the Hall but Sam didn’t move and seemed to lapse into a thoughtful mood as he too gazed upon the restful beauty that surrounded them.
“It’s right nice here...... “Sam said after a while, “but it isn’t home, is it? Not our home, is it?”
Frodo found he could not answer that question. Home? Where would he ever feel at home again? The peace of the elves and that sense of latent, but tranquil sadness that permeated the very air here seemed more suited to Frodo’s state of mind and heart now than anywhere he had been since they escaped from Mordor. Frodo wondered if he would fit in at all once they returned to the Shire.
Sam took Frodo’s silence as agreement.
“I’ll be so glad to see my Gaffer and ....you know...... “ Sam blushed a vivid red and Frodo knew what he was about to say, “Rosie.”
“I know, Sam.” Frodo said with that distant smile that said he was happy for Sam but that he felt this from someplace far away.
“There must be someone you’d like to see again when you get home, Mr. Frodo?”
“Oh.........everyone, I suppose.”
“Now, you know what I mean. somebody special. For YOU, Sir. What about that Miss Biddy Bracegirdle that you danced with all night at Mr. Bilbo’s Big Party? Don’t tell me you didn’t fancy her. She certainly fancied YOU, Mr. Frodo.”
“Biddy.............? I’d...forgotten. And I imagine Biddy has forgotten about me, as well.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Frodo . She always had her cap set on you. Didn’t you know that?”
Frodo found he could barely recall such things. They were like things that had happened to someone else. He knew that things like this had mattered to him, once, but rarely entered his thoughts now.
“I’m sure she has found herself someone more suitable than me, by now, Sam.”
“More suitable than, YOU? Mr. Frodo! Who in all the Shire could THAT possibly be?”
Anyone, Sam, anyone. Frodo thought, but did not say out loud. What could a sweet, jolly, innocent hobbit-lass like Biddy Bracegirdle possibly have in common with him now. He wasn’t the same anymore. He was .......... tainted. Yes. That was the word. Tainted. By a kind of poison no girl of the Shire could ever comprehend. The things that had happened to him and within him set Frodo some place so far off from anything an average Hobbit would ever know. Somewhere that was so remote and where he was very, very alone.
Sam was looking at him with those worried, oh so sincere eyes of his. Even Sam didn’t see that Frodo was no longer as he once was. Even Sam who had been through ...almost....everything with him.
“C’mon, Mr. Frodo. Don’t be so hard on yourself. If Biddy don’t want you now, it’s her loss. And a silly lass she is if she isn’t waitin’ for you..... Like I hope Rosie is waiting for me.”
All Frodo could do was smile again at Sam.
“Well, I’m sure Rosie is waiting for you, Sam.”
“Oh I hope she is...”
“Don’t worry, Sam. She is. That’s one thing I’m certain of. All right let’s join the others in the Hall now, Sam.”
Frodo was ready to go and listen to the music and stories of the elves now. Only amongst them did he find a resonance with how he felt now. Only they could comprehend the way he was now. But even they did not fully know why he was so changed. No one knew about that. Everyone thought it was the aftereffects of carrying the Ring that had altered him somehow and that, with time, he would overcome what it had done to him. No. Nothing would overcome that. That was the worst thing of all. The Ring was the primary poison that tainted him and he would never truly be completely free of it but it wasn’t the only contamination that had invaded and polluted him.
“Sir, you do look pale! I bet you haven’t eaten enough again today. C’mon with you now. There’s bound to be plenty of good elvish food waitin’ downstairs. Y’know I’ve quite taken a liking to the stuff since we had nothing but lembas bread to eat for so long. Thought I’d come to hate it but I never did. And the elves, they could teach even the best cook in the Shire a thing or two about good cookin.”
“That would be you, Sam. You’re the best cook in the Shire. I hope you are collecting recipes to bring home with you.”
“That I am, Mr. Frodo.”
****************************************
The elves had actually asked Merry and Pippin to sing another Shire song for them. The Hobbits were still viewed as an amusing novelty to those elves who had not spent long years assisting in the guarding of the Shire’s boundaries. Even those who knew Bilbo well and appreciated his efforts at more than passably composing poems of his own in elvish seemed delighted , in that subdued and very dignified elvish, way by the joyous, youthful performances of Peregrin and Meriadoc.
They weren’t dancing on the table this time but were re-enacting a local Hobbiton rhyme set to a jig which they energetically performed and repeated several times since they realized the elves didn’t know when the song was really over so Merry and Pip just kept going on and on.
Sam leaned toward Frodo with a slightly disapproving look on his face.
“Now I do wish they’d be done and let the elves sing their songs. That’s what I like to hear and you do too, Mr. Frodo.”
They were sitting quietly on a carved bench in the shadows on the side of the wide hall. Frodo didn’t like being in the middle of a crowd, even here in Rivendell. He felt content to just sit on the fringe of anything that was going on. He was more and more content to just sit on the boundary of life. To just be still and not feel.
To be at peace.
When he allowed himself to feel then he remembered and the memories were not of the good old days at Bag End or Brandy Hall. Those were dim distant dreams of another Hobbit, Frodo Baggins of the Shire not those of The Ringbearer, survivor of Mordor. Survivor. He had survived but Mordor had not been left behind. It travelled everywhere with him. In the dark places in his mind the memories slept and awoke only to rob him of his rest.
But for now he felt still. It was the closeness of the elves and their long acquaintance with patience and peace and the way that this filled the air of Rivendell and held the darkness at bay.
Merry and Pippin were not elves and he was beginning to wish they would end their greatly prolonged, rather loud and raucous, silly little tune.
And then they did finish!
But then Pippin piped up with.....
“Frodo knows some jolly songs! Sing something for us, Frodo!”
“Pippin......” Frodo whispered under his breath wishing he could disappear.
“Why don’t you, Mr. Frodo. You used to always be one for a good song.” Sam said, unhelpfully.
Frodo glared at him.
“No, Sam. Not you, too.” he said.
“C’mon Frodo!” Pippin called brightly.
“Pippin, it’s time to let the elves sing.” Frodo told his younger cousin, hoping that this would make the imp stop pestering him to sing.
“Oh, no, Frodo. They have all the time in the world!”
There was a ripple of soft elvish laughter at this.
“Actually I’d simply rather not, Pip.” Take the hint you rascal, please!
“You might feel better if you did, Mr. Frodo.” Sam added.
“Sam!” Frodo said in a distracted whisper. “No!”
Sam got that resigned ‘ I can’t do anything with him when he’s like this’ look on his face and shrugged at Pippin.
“He just doesn’t want to, Mr. Pippin.”
Pippin opened his mouth to urge Frodo on again but Merry restrained Pip with a hand on his shoulder.
“Let him be, Pip. Just let him be. It is the elves turn. We’ve wasted far too much of their time already with our silly song.”
“But Merry...” Pip protested.
“Let Frodo be.”
Bless you, Merry. Frodo thought. It was always Merry who caught the drift of Frodo’s moods and though Merry couldn’t completely grasp the depth of Frodo’s hurts he respected how he felt. Especially after Merry’s own nearly deadly encounter with the Black Breath.
Then Frodo reproached himself for again being so un-hobbity. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t feel like a hobbit or much of anything else anymore. He just was.
He hated being so...so........ separate. But he had no idea how or even if he could change this about himself.
Pippin had decided it was wise to heed Merry and the two had wandered off in search of refreshment...again. The elves had almost imperceptibly begun their soft singing and the large space seemed to dim restfully.
Frodo sighed and leaned back closing his eyes. For awhile now he could rest.
Sam sighed too, but with the sadness that he felt so often now about his dear Master. Would Frodo ever be the same again. Somewhere in his reluctant heart Sam knew he would not.
Sam rose quietly so as not to disturb Frodo and followed Merry and Pippin.
********************************
After a time that could have been moments or hours Frodo lazily opened his eyes and as he looked across the pleasantly shadowy hall he recognized another pair of dark eyes watching his. He recognized who they belonged to instantly though he had only met their intense gaze once before. It was Earenii of the Black Elves, the long-tormented elven survivors of the dungeons of Sauron.
She was here. Galadriel must have sent her hence. Had she been healed of her grave pains in Lothlorien? He hoped fervently that she had. That healing from the horrors of the Black Land was possible, for some.
How long had she been watching him. He was certain he hadn’t seen her in the Hall before this night. She must have only just arrived.
She was simply sitting there across the Hall with her eyes fixed on his. And it did not trouble him because in her eyes was ‘knowing’. Earenii understood.
TBC