The Fall

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance and a cold wind began to stir in the air, causing dust to swirl around Frodo's legs as he headed home along the road. He pulled his grey cloak tightly around his frail body, blocking out not only the chill, but the sights of everything around him.

He reached the house just before the first drops of rain began to tumble from the towering clouds. Coughing slightly, he stepped into the front hall and closed the door, and was greeted by a head of golden hair.

"Uncle Frodo!"

Frodo closed his eyes a moment and sighed, then looked down at the youngster, smiling.

"Shouldn't you be in bed at this hour, Ruby?"

She nodded her head enthusiastically. "Yes, but Dad said I could stay up to hear the story tonight, since I'm five now!" she exclaimed, holding up five pudgy Hobbit fingers.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, it was exciting! Dad told us about how yo—"

Rosie suddenly appeared in the hallway, looking flustered. "Oh, Ruby, there you are. Come on now, off to bed with you," she reprimanded, holding her hand out to her daughter. "Hello, Mr. Frodo, have a nice walk?"

Frodo nodded as Ruby took her mother's hand. "Night, Uncle Frodo," she said. They both disappeared around the corner.

A fire was lit in the kitchen, and Frodo entered it to find Sam boiling water for tea. He looked up as Frodo stepped in.

"Did you enjoy your walk, Mr. Frodo?" he asked, observing the older Hobbit carefully.

"I did," he said, but Sam could tell he was lying. Things hadn't been the same since…

"Ruby seemed to enjoy staying up tonight," Frodo said, smiling slightly. He loved all of Sam's children, although he sometimes felt overwhelmed by the younger ones. They all seemed to crave his attention, and while he was glad to oblige, it became tiring lately.

Sam beamed. "Aye, she did. Her first time of bein' read to from the Red Book."

"What story did you tell them?"

"I told 'em about meetin' Strider, and how we saw him become King." Sam said proudly.

"I always liked that one," Frodo said softly. "It was the happy ending before the fall…"

Sam frowned. It was true, but he couldn't allow Frodo to dwell too much on it. He poured them both tea, spicing Frodo's with an athelas leaf, and then sat back down at the table.

"You got a letter from him today," Sam said, and Frodo's eyes lit up as Sam handed him the letter. Frodo opened it as quickly as his shaking hands allowed him too, and slowly read Aragorn's slanting hand. He sighed when he'd finished.

"He wants me to come live in Minas Tirith," he said quietly. "It'll be easier for me than staying here, less painful. He'd be there when the illnesses come…"

"He's asked you before, hasn't he?" Sam said, trying to keep the conversation going.

Frodo nodded. "Yes…but we both know I can't make the journey. It's too far, and I'm not strong enough."

It hurt Sam deeply, to see Frodo longing to leave yet being incapable of it. He knew as well as Aragorn did that the Shire's fall had wounded Frodo as deeply as the entire Quest, and that since he hadn't found the strength to recover from his illnesses quickly enough. He merely didn't have the will to fight anymore, and it was slowly killing him. But Minas Tirith could help him find peace, if he was with the King and Queen, he might find some deep desire to heal.

"What if I went with you?" Sam said suddenly. "You wouldn't have to go alone, I could look after you, and—."

But Frodo was already shaking his head. "I couldn't ask it of you, Sam, and anyway, it isn't a matter of being looked after, it's just too far."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but closed it. He couldn't argue this and win.

They were both silent awhile, until Frodo spoke.

"It just seems like it was for nothing," he said. "I know it wasn't, but I fought so hard for the Shire, so that you might enjoy it, Sam, and we lost it anyway."

"The Shire's still here, Mr. Frodo, it's just…changed…" He knew it wasn't true; the Shire had been lost to them long ago. But what could he say? Frodo had never been the same since Sharkey had come.

They'd tried to fight him, they really had, but his power was too great, and so the Shire had fallen under his command. He'd ordered ruffians around like servants, and the Shire wasn't the Shire anymore, it was a village resembling Bree. But it was darker. Bree wasn't a bad town, this new Shire was…well, to the Hobbits, at least.

Most of them had left their Shire roots to seek out a place to live outside of Bree, in Greenholm, but a few had remained. Sam's family was so large moving would've been difficult, and despite its changes, Frodo had refused to leave the Shire.

"I'd leave now, Sam," Frodo said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "Even just to go to Greenholm, but I'm too old, too ill, too hurt."

Sam reached across the table and clasped his master's icy hand. Keeping warm was a difficult task for Frodo. The amount of quilts on his bed was substantial, and even in the summer he often lit a fire in his room.

"I wish there was somethin' I could do," Sam said. "But I can't think of anythin'."

Frodo smiled feebly. "I know, Sam. And that thought is helpful enough." He stood up, sighing. "It's late, and I'm terribly exhausted. I believe I'll retire for the evening."

"Here, let me—"

Frodo shook his head. "It's all right, Sam, I can manage."

Sam nodded as Frodo limped out of the room. He really couldn't make any journeys, Sam mused. He was falling apart, piece by piece.

Frodo ensured that the fire would burn throughout the night, providing warmth and light, and then crawled beneath the dozen blankets on his bed, cocooning himself comfortably in them.

He wouldn't have to make any journeys to Minas Tirith. Aragorn was coming to him.

That's what the letter had said, at least, but Aragorn had asked Frodo to remain silent. He would ride out with an embassy and put an end to Sharkey. Explanations for the delay would come in time, the King had written.

But Frodo knew he couldn't possibly restore the Shire. Tear down the buildings and mills, maybe, but he couldn't cleanse the water and grow back the trees. That had to have time.

Aragorn must've known. He was taking Frodo back with him.

The journey was too long!

With the King of Gondor, one of Middle-Earth's most skilled healers with him, he would make it. But he wouldn't live long in the Shire. Near to Aragorn, he'd have peace. They both knew it.

So it would be.

A/N: I'm wondering if I should leave this as a one-shot, or continue it. Let me know what you think.