Mornié Utulie

AN: I cannot be the only Frodo fan who was saddened by how Tolkien chose to end his story. While I understand the reasoning of why he wrote what he did, I couldn't help but want something different for my beloved hobbit who had been through too much. So I started writing this story, my own happy ending for Frodo. This is, of course, my own wishful thinking, and so you may take it as such. But I have tried to keep all of the characters themselves as much as possible. I hope you enjoy.

"These wounds won't seem to heal; This pain is just too real; There's just too much that time cannot erase…" -"My Immortal," Evanescence

"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to see the ways in which you yourself have altered." -Nelson Mandela

Prologue

Frodo sat in the study of Bag End, trying for the seventh time to write some sort of poem like he used to before he left the Shire. But nothing seemed to come to mind, nothing except sad words about feeling estranged and alienated from the world. He couldn't help but wonder why. Shouldn't everything be better now that he was home now? He would have thought it would, but it hadn't turned out that way. The hobbits here often glared at him, angry that he left the Shire, disturbing their peaceful lives. Their rejection bothered him more than he cared to admit. He'd never been popular, and he was quite fine with that, but he grew tired of the never-ending whispers about where he'd gone, why he went, and why he was missing a finger. The speculations he'd heard ranged from the pernicious to the ridiculous.

Yet the snobbery of the hobbits wasn't the only problem he faced. He was also still plagued by the same nightmares that he'd had on the Quest. His shoulder still pained him terribly on rainy days. And the darkness still pressed down on his mind despite the Evenstar that Queen Arwen had given him. He felt so very…..well, lost was the only word that seemed to fit. He felt like he'd lost the Frodo he'd been before, the one who knew no evil, only the good and peace of the Shire. Yet now he was much too familiar with what was dark. It surrounded him, constantly pulling at him. He was lost in shadows of the past, and he couldn't seem to find his way back.

He had not mentioned any of this to Sam. Sam had already fretted over him too much both on their journey, and also after they came back to the Shire. He was always asking him how was feeling, telling him he needed to eat, needed to rest….and on and on. He could only imagine how Sam would act if he told him the truth about how he felt. Yet maybe Sam knew anyway. On their journey to Mordor, he'd tell Sam he was all right, but Sam saw through it every single time without fail. It was uncanny how he could always pick up how he was feeling. Yet he knew was lucky to have such a good friend as Sam, even if he did seem over concerned sometimes. He was far from well, that was obvious enough, but he didn't want to burden Sam with his problems all the time. Sam should be able to think about other things sometimes besides his ailing friend, like his budding romance with Rosie Cotton, the lass he'd loved for years.

He heard a knock at the door of Bag End, then the soft sound of footsteps. He smiled. He was certain it was Sam.

Sure enough, Sam appeared in the doorway, his mail in his hand. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, placing it on top of the desk. "Brought your mail, I did."

"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly. "It's very kind of you." "

"Tisn't a problem, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I'm right glad to do it." He peered closely at him. "Have you been outside at all today?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Sam," he said. "I've been….preoccupied."

Sam glanced from Frodo's face to the blank piece of paper in front of him. He promptly looked slightly skeptical. "Oh, I see," he said. "Lost in thought again?"

Lost! What a perfectly suitable word for Sam to pick. Hadn't he just used that very word to describe himself? He was lost- lost in thought, lost in the darkness of his mind, lost under a perpetual cloud of gloom that he couldn't seem to shake. "Something like that, Sam," he said.

For once, Sam didn't press him to talk. "Well, it is a beautiful day, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "The leaves have finally changed. Right gold, they are. Do you see?"

He gestured out the window. Frodo looked out the window like Sam asked. "Oh, yes, indeed," he said, absently. Actually, he couldn't see how it was any different than any other day, and he couldn't see the gold in the leaves either. They only seemed like a dull yellow to him. But even if he had, he was sure the color gold would never seem the same to him again. He certainly couldn't see the beauty in it that Sam did. He couldn't see the beauty in anything.