THE LOST ISLE Chapter 1 The Parting of Friends [edited version
Coming at last to their destination, the four travelers slowed their steps, staring in awe at the beautiful scene before them. Having never gazed upon open waters before, they stood feasting their eyes upon the crescent shaped harbor and surrounding mountains, all bathed in the unearthly light of a golden sunset. Waters rippled toward them in pale aqua waves, sparkling as if diamonds floated upon their surface. Overhead, seagulls soared in lazy circles, framed by lavender hued mountains cloaked in light mist. The air was fresh and invigorating, stirred by gentle breezes, interrupted only by the occasional call of a gull. The hobbits stood like statues as they attempted to absorb the beauty surrounding them. And then Bilbo straightened to his tallest height as if awakening from a dream. With a delighted laugh he started down the grey weathered steps toward the distant ship which was waiting at the dock. Aboard its decks passengers could be seen lining the railings, the tallest looking remarkably like Gandalf with his long white hair and beard. At the gangplank a man and woman faced them in obvious expectation.
"Hullo, hullo!" Bilbo shouted to them, glancing back over one shoulder as his steps slowed. His expression softened momentarily with a look of bittersweet regret. "Goodbye, dear hobbits," he sighed, raising his hand. "Thank you for the lovely cart ride here, and for everything…but I must be off now—be well!"
Watching in silence as he continued descending the stairs, Sam turned his head to meet Pippin's startled expression. Upon receiving his shrug and noting the raising of his brows, Sam turned to his other side where Merry offered a bemused expression before looking back toward Bilbo. They had planned for months to escort the old hobbit to the Grey Havens, thinking it a fitting destiny for one hobbit who clearly belonged among the elves. It seemed only right that he should accompany them on their final voyage to the Blessed Realm. Yet never had they thought to prepare themselves for the reality of never seeing him again. As was his custom in times of need, Sam looked to Frodo for an explanation, studying his friend's profile as he waited for him to answer.
To Sam's keen eye Frodo showed no reaction as he watched his dear uncle leave him behind. If there had been any change to note, Sam would have said that Frodo paled a bit more than his usual, or perhaps it was just the bright golden light making it look that way. After three years of being home in the Shire, unfortunately Frodo had remained pale and drawn, even more quiet than ever.
A shadow of his former self, Sam thought with a frown. And although he was long on patience when it came to his best friend, he found it difficult to watch and wait as no word issued forth from Frodo's lips. Still he waited, finally rewarded when he detected a very slight furrow upon Frodo's brow, though he said and did nothing. Could it be that in his grief, Frodo had nothing to say?
Pip's hand clamped down upon Sam's shoulder as Merry moved to Frodo's other side. Gathering close, the hobbits gazed toward the ship, noting the spring in Bilbo's step as he left them behind. His shout of joy propelled him forward the rest of the way until he stood before Elrond and Lady Galadriel, quickly dipping into a hobbit bow. The elves' greetings echoed up toward them, the sound funneled by the canyon-like landscape surrounding the harbor. Sam shook his head in disgruntled acceptance, watching Bilbo spread wide his arm to allow the elves to board ahead of him. Then taking two steps onto the plank, he gripped the rope with one gnarled hand and lifted the other toward them, waving once to them.
"Frodo, my lad, come along!" Bilbo called, startling them all. "Mustn't keep everyone waiting!"
Staring at Bilbo in disbelief, Sam digested the meaning of his command and quickly glanced toward Frodo. "What for?" he exclaimed, shaking his head and ignoring Frodo's stonelike appearance. When he received no response he glanced at Merry and Pip, who were staring at Frodo in obvious confusion. Sam shot his gaze back to his friend.
He continued to stare off into the distance, the place between his eyes deepening with concern. Sam watched his lips tighten and though it didn't seem possible, Frodo paled even more. Bracing his hand upon Frodo's good shoulder, Sam was shocked when Frodo winced in pain. Immediately lifting it away, he held it aloft, staring at Frodo in shock.
"Mr. Frodo—are you all right?"
Forcing himself to turn and look at them, Frodo's heart sank at the fear and confusion in their expression. Sam gripped the hand he had quickly withdrawn, making Frodo feel even more guilty for his reaction. Though his heart pounded and his gut twisted with worry, he looked into Sam's eyes and opened his mouth to speak, finding he could not. They heard Bilbo's piercing whistle and he turned to gaze down at his uncle, who stood on deck between Gandalf and Elrond, his hands framing his mouth as he stretched up onto his toes.
"Fro-o-o-o-do-o-o-o-o!!" Bilbo called, lifting both hands to beckon him.
Staring at the old hobbit who was more a father than an uncle, Frodo gasped back both a sob and a laugh, shaking his head at the irony of his situation. Bilbo was giddy with delight and eager to leave, but his own spirit withered even more. Turning back to his friends, he could see the confusion and hurt in their eyes as they began to understand his dilemma. Feeling torn, he saw the tears in Merry's eyes despite the brave smile he offered. Pippin was biting his bottom lip, but nodded his head in reluctant acceptance. Sam, on the other hand looked angry, despite the tears flooding his eyes. Frodo took a step toward him, swallowing against a throat gone dry. To his surprise, Sam took a step backward and shook off the restraining hand Merry laid upon his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo choked, searching his friend's face, "…but I think it's time for me to go."
A parade of emotions flitted across Sam's face as he seemed to awaken to the truth. Narrowing his eyes upon Frodo's face he protested in a croak of denial just as Bilbo called out again. Frodo gripped Sam's arms despite Bilbo's calls, which served to tear the threads holding him to his friends. Grief swelled up within him as he held Sam with his eyes, silently pleading for his release.
Sam was shaking his head as he gripped Frodo's arms. "Go where?" he croaked. "Not with them?"
"Froooodoooo!" Bilbo called again, sounding as if he were summoning a runaway pet.
Frodo grimaced at the sound of it, unable to think of any way to make them understand.
"You belong here, with us," Sam was saying as he gently shook him, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes..
Pain stabbed into Frodo's heart as he shook his head. "No more," he gasped, holding Sam's gaze. He watched his sadness turn into anger.
"How could you?" he accused. "You never said a word—"
"I couldn't," Frodo choked, placing his hands on Sam's arms. "But it's for the best, Sam," he tried to explain. "Not only for me—"
"But you've barely settled back into things," Sam protested, taking his hands in a forceful grip. "Give yourself a chance, Mr. Frodo—"
"It's been three years, Sam," Frodo said with a sad smile. He glanced toward Merry and Pippin, who stood gripping each other as if for support. "It's no use."
"You've had a hard time of it but you'll recover," Sam urged him. "Just wait and see!"
Unable to stand any more, Frodo threw his arms around his friend, holding onto him with all his strength. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he felt Sam begin to shake with silent sobs, making his own eyes flood with tears. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt Sam's arms come around his back in an iron grip.
"Frodo, please," Pippin breathed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Don't go."
"We need you," Merry added, circling his arm around Frodo's back.
They stood in a close huddle for a moment as Frodo fought to catch his breath. Bilbo still called to him and he knew he was detaining the others. Easing from Sam's grip he looked at them in sad expectation, finally stepping back with a shudder.
"You have to let me go," he choked, turning his head toward the waiting ship.
"No—not you!" Sam cried, gripping the front of his jacket and forcing him to pry his hands away.
"I'll miss you, Sam," he choked, his voice failing him as he eyed two other friends. "And you, Merry and Pip—dear friends."
"But we need you here!" Sam urged, gripping his arm. "We haven't half your sense, even if we put all three o' our heads together—you know that."
"That's not true," Frodo insisted. "Now it's your time to carry on—I've made up my mind."
Sam stared at him a moment, studying him carefully. Finally he released him and stepped back. "All right," he said tightly. "If that's the way you want it."
Frodo shook his head in regret. "It's not that way," he sighed, nodding to Merry and Pip as he moved away, following in Bilbo's steps as he descended the stairs.
The sun was sinking lower, gilding the outlines of the ship and those aboard with golden haloes of light. He moved slowly toward them, his good hand sliding down the well worn railing as he went. Fixing his gaze upon the other passengers as they stood watching him, he drew near, noting the concern upon their faces. Deeply touched, he felt suddenly stronger. Taking a deep breath to pull the cool air into his lungs, he reached the bottom stair and crossed the weathered dock to the gangplank. Climbing up to the deck of the ship, he nodded curtly to those closest him before finding a place to stand apart from the rest. There he paused, laying a hand over the railing as he directed his gaze back toward his friends.
Sam swiped at his cheek and straightened his back as Merry and Pippin moved closer to lend their support. Frodo heaved back a sob as the scrape of the plank indicated it was being drawn up. A chain rattled and ground against an unseen wheel as the breeze whipped through the stiff fabric of the sails overhead. Beneath his feet the floor dipped slightly as they glided away from the dock. Gripping the railing tighter, Frodo kept his gaze upon his fellow hobbits and swallowed the lump in his throat.
Alisa felt Galadriel's arm coming around her shoulders as they watched Frodo try to deal with his grief. Every eye seemed to be fixed upon him, despite the obvious fact that he wished to be alone. She saw the pain twisting his expression, unable to forget the stark despair in his eyes when he had first boarded. Her own eyes flooded with unshed tears as she studied him in profile.
"It is for the best," Galadriel soothed, tightening her arm around her. "You will see."
Alisa shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from Frodo's face. "How can he leave them?" she whispered in sympathy. "He loves them so, even more than they love him."
"I know," the older woman said softly. "We must pray for Frodo all the more."
Alisa nodded, her lips already whispering the familiar verses she had long ago committed to memory. They had soothed and healed her own soul, and she had to believe they would do the same for him. Though hobbit relationships were legendary, never before had she seen such power of emotion as witnessed today. It both thrilled and threatened, for in that moment she realized the consequences of feeling too strongly and too deeply for someone.
Bilbo shook his head in wonder, wishing that goodbyes were not always so painful for the younger hobbits. Even from this distance he could see how Sam slumped between the hold Merry and Pippin kept on him as they stood watching them leave. And Frodo…
Staring at his nephew in amazement, he had to admit that he had doubted Frodo would manage to tear himself away, even after all these years. Knowing something of the anguish in his nephew's heart without feeling much of it himself, Bilbo watched his eyes fill with unshed tears. Frodo's eyes had always revealed his every emotion, and his face could be read as easily as an open book. Even from childhood Frodo had always been a sensitive sort, understandably so. Having suffered the loss of his parents at an early age, Bilbo had witnessed the compounding of his grief with the matter of the ring, something he had never suffered himself.
If only I could have spared him the burden of the ring…
Not one to dwell on the gloomy side of things too long, Bilbo pursed his lips and turned to glance up at Gandalf, who stood silently by his side. The old wizard glanced down from the corner of his eye and offered an unconvincing smile of encouragement. He nodded toward Frodo and took a deep breath, then lifted his white head, closed his eyes and began to meditate. Taking that as a sign of approval, Bilbo approached his nephew with careful steps, balancing himself against the gentle pitch of the ship as it moved slowly over the waters.
"There you are my lad!" he greeted him as cheerfully as he could, smiling when Frodo swung his head around to meet his gaze. "Glad you decided to come—I cannot imagine this adventure without you!"
Frodo's brows shot up a moment, his grip on the railing easing as he half turned and waited for him to come to his side.
Sam stared in mute disbelief as he struggled to accept the fact that they were losing Frodo. The ship was gliding away toward the sunset, but he watched Bilbo move to Frodo's side and slap his back. When they turned together to gaze back to the spot where he stood between Pip and Merry, he felt his churning stomach begin to quiet. Even from this distance he noted some of the pain leaving Frodo's expression, and there was a bit of a lift to his posture as he settled back into position next to his uncle, leaning over the railing and looking in their direction. Then, like a miracle, Sam felt relieved despite all his worries. Shaking his head in amazement, he nodded toward the ship they all stood watching.
"Just look at those two," he ordered, elbowing his friends but not taking his gaze from Frodo and Bilbo. "Of course they belong together," he said with growing conviction. Bilbo would help Frodo, and he sensed the others would, too. Finally turning to his companions, he smiled despite the same embarrassment he felt and saw written in their expressions.
"You're right," Merry admitted sheepishly. "And they are family, we mustn't forget."
Pippin coughed into his fist and linked his arm through Sam's. "And family and hobbits stay together."
"That's right," Sam breathed, gazing back toward the ship as it headed for the mouth of the harbor. "Which reminds me, Rosie and little Eleanor will be waiting for us."
"Us?" Pip exclaimed, turning to look him in the eye. "What do you mean?"
Turning with them, Sam pulled them into his sides as they started for the ponies. "Why you're coming to our house for dinner, of course," he announced proudly. "And I won't take no for an answer."
Pippin winked at Merry before screwing up his face in protest. "But we've got a long ride back and I'm hungry now," he complained.
Merry shoved him as he reached for the flap of Sam's saddlebag. "Got any snacks, Sam?" he quipped, ducking his head toward the bag.
Sam dragged Pip to the side of his pony and slapped Merry's back. "Of course I've got snacks," he stated, smiling as Merry pulled out an apple and bit into it. Pippin reached into the bag as he turned to glance back toward the ship, watching it slip between the feet of the mountains. He heard Pip chewing enthusiastically as he nodded his head. "My, what a grand sunset," he breathed, staring at the purples and pinks blazing in the sky. "I think Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo are in for a truly grand adventure…"
Leaning heavily against the railing, Frodo was aware of Gandalf's approach before he felt the hand laid upon his good shoulder. Not turning to acknowledge him or the invitation Bilbo extended to meet them below deck in their quarters, he was aware of them leaving his side without further comment. Unable to pull his gaze from the tiny forms of his friends, he stood alone watching them even after they mounted and rode away home toward the Shire. He set his jaw as the rise where he had stood above the harbor melted into the dusk and finally disappeared from sight. Anxiety clawed at the back of his mind, distracting him from the weight of grief pressing heavily upon him. He prayed in earnest for their safe journey home, as well as for their lives to be full and content. But even after that was finished, he remained apart on deck, watching Middle Earth itself fade into the shadows of twilight.
Shivering despite the warm glow of the sunset surrounding the ship, he pulled his cloak tighter. Blindly his fingers felt for the phial of Galadriel, brushing it and bringing him some relief. Then pulling his hand from his pocket, he gripped his injured one and absently massaged it, his mind flitting back into darker halls of memory. Not realizing how his face twisted with pain, he kept his eyes on the endless rows of waves undulating in the wake of their progress.