Red String
There was always a tale that had come to the Shire. It was said to have come from the land and elder of the Elves before they had passed over the Sea with the Ring-bearers. The tale was always told by mothers to their children. The tale of a Red String that was nearly indestructible. The Red String strung two people together, biding them inside its woven thread and as the mothers put it "tied them into a bow". The Red String exists for every single being in the world, tying them to another being, even if one does not believe that it is there, it is always. And sometimes, that Red String is all that keeps us going.
Past Strands
It was a warm autumn day in August. The sun was in the sky, white clouds suspended in the air; and the humid hair stung to the residence of Buckland. The residence wore thin layers of clothing, for it was oddly hot for a day in August. It seemed to be alike a day of July. Brandy Hall was bustling with energy, as it did most the time in the world. Yet this August was different from most, even after the fall of Sharky. Meriadoc had invited his relative, Frodo Baggins to stay for a while.
Most in Brandy Hall looked down upon it. A Baggins hadn't stayed in Buckland since the passing of Drogo and Primula Baggins, Frodo's parents. They covered their disaffection with a play that anyone could look through. Although the gossip spread quickly over assumptions what happened to the once fair Frodo Baggins, he himself never paid much attention, though Merry on the hand would look at them coldly from afar, silencing them.
But this autumn day in August wasn't like the normal ones in Brandy Hall. Frodo Baggins had not stayed within the realms of the walls of the Hall, he ventured out into the sun, aimlessly walking. He was sure that the hobbits of Brandy Hall regarded him as some kind of ill grown flower, like a daisy growing in a rose bush.
He now walked the lonely path that lead from Brandy Hall. Indeed Sam would be worried about him – after all he was miles away from his dear gardeners care. Normally he would have smiled at the fondness of his dear friend, yet little feeling ever came from him now. Except for the feelings that he knew would always be inside him – regret, despair and the sense of failure. He had risked his life to do something, and when it came down to it….he chose to give in instead of to destroy.
It had sounded so simple at first. Destroy. After all, how hard could it be? He had companions with him, to help him and to encourage him. But then they were all at risk. If he had stayed with the Fellowship – the One Ring would have led them all to ruin. He knew it. That was why he left…but after Cirith Ungol, even Sam seemed to be far away, heading to ruin. But now, he could see it clearly. He, Frodo Baggins, was the one headed to ruin. After Cirith Ungol he admitted inside he did not have the will to continue on, and he began to doubt he'd ever see his home again.
He winced. Many praised him as a savior of Middle-Earth, but he did not destroy the One Ring. Gollum had. In the end, he wondered if it was Smeagol who sent Gollum off the edge, after the fool pranced along the ledge of Mount Doom. And now the story was over. The quest had been completed, leaving the poor hobbit broken. Frodo wondered if his part in the world was now over. What would he do for the rest of his life? It would have been expanded, but….what would he do? What would a "savior" do?
Frodo stopped, gazing at the trees in front of him. He had played often here as a child when he lived here among Merry. He stared at the thick brush with an emotionless gaze. He could hear laughter from inside the small groove. He pushed back the small bush, finding the old but familiar path. He had dreamed of this many times on his quest. He would hear someone calling him, but when he reached the groove he always woke. He shook his head now, and continued down the small path, moving over roots and branches that stuck and reached from the trunk.
"Dance 'round the may pole, dance and dance. Be merry, then choose your partner, choose the partner." He heard children singing. He knew that song. It was part of an old game that he had played when he was younger. 'Lords and Ladies' they called it. It was fairly simple, as was most things in the Shire – and of hobbit life. He stopped, listening. "Marry off, marry off. To the alter, 'round the may pole. Get the bride, get the Lord. Wedding day is here! Wedding day is here!" the children chanted.
Frodo continued down the path, stopped behind a tree. He peaked around the corner, seeing the children dance around the familiar small Maple Tree. The Maple Tree had never grown fully, and was prefect for the 'Lords and Ladies' game. Countless generations of hobbit-children in Buckland had played this game. Frodo watched. If only life could be truly as simple as a child's game.
The children then gave way from the tree. A young boy and girl were picked from the circle, and came forward. Frodo then found that an older child hobbit brought their hands up. He remembered this part well – being in this situation many times. The older child brought a red string up, tying it around the two children's pinkies. The other children clapped and held hands in a circle around the two stringed children.
"Married off, married off. Lord and Lady of the day, Lord and Lady. Married off, married off. Tied together by the Red String, tied together. Married off, married off, to be forever more!" the children then clapped and cheered, and proceeded to play as if they were in a fantasy kingdom. A fantasy. Fantasies were nice – but they weren't reality.
~*~
Frodo closed the door to his rooms. He had returned home, not able to stand watching the children play their happy fantasy. He looked up into the study; Merry should have never given him such a large room for such short of a time. Yet, he knew that in his own way, Merry was trying to heal him. There was only one cure to Frodo's illness, and that was to forget. Yet – he couldn't. Physical remembrance and nightmares plagued him. Frodo would never forget.
He entered the study, finding a note on the table. He picked the small parchment up, and over looked the messy fast writing. It was Merry's manuscript. Frodo frowned to himself. "A tea party." He said softly to himself. "How fitting."
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a/n: thank you for bothering to read. The next chapter will be longer, and I plan this story to be long…developing a characters romance is always better than having it start off the bat, I think, but then again I'm odd. Please Review!