The divine concourse that followed Bilbo as he took his last steps in the glorious province of Aman was unlike any assemblage that had ever been gathered in that land. About them gleamed an aura of shimmering luminescence that was augmented by the brilliance of the Sun, and in each of their hands was clasped the white flower simbelmynë. They moved as effortlessly as liquid silver, singing as they went in voices magnificent to hear, leaving an afterimage of light in their wake more dazzling than the train of a falling star.
Bilbo was at last conveyed into the very heart of Valinor, and there a bier stood to receive him amid a panoply of delicate flowers. The company halted, and the Elves raised their voices with renewed clarity, their eyes glistening like multi-faceted jewels as they looked on.
Bilbo gathered up Frodo into a final embrace, and the hearts of all the assembly swelled to witness the grievousness of their parting. Then Gandalf took Bilbo by the hand once more and led him forward to his last resting-place. Gently, he was borne up, his head placed on the pillow that had been laid out for him, and he fell into a sleep from which there would be no waking. Peace was on his face.
"Namárië, Bilbo Baggins," said Galadriel sadly.
"Farewell, my old friend," Gandalf echoed, as tears stood out in his eyes.
Frodo did not speak.
It was with halting steps that Frodo was led back home as he blinked through a mist of tears and grief constricted his throat. All throughout the night, the Elves sang a requiem celebrating Bilbo's long and storied life and lamenting the loss that the world had suffered now he was no longer part of it, and their music fell on Frodo's ears like a poetical fountain of bittersweet lyricism. The words sung in that high tongue of the Eldar lodged into his very soul, occupying the emptiness begotten by Bilbo's absence and pooling in his wounded heart like puddles of limpid rain.
He sat motionless by his front window as the aria of the Elves and the eternal song of the Sea commingled, his mind numbed by the dull throb of fresh mourning. He wanted to remember every moment that he and Bilbo had lived together, he wanted to fasten himself upon every glad time and every tear shed and to hear the strident voice of his uncle as though it were a tangible sound. But every memory he endeavoured to recall dispersed in an insubstantial tendril of smoke, leaving him to an arid emptiness of mute space.
He remained there through the long passage of the night, staring out absently with eyes that marked nothing, until he finally succumbed to an uneasy sleep in the small hours of the morning, slumped over in his chair as he was.
It seemed a matter of mere moments after drowsiness had taken him when he heard a gentle rapping on the front door. He sat up groggily, his eyes adjusting resentfully to the light of day, and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. Shambling to the front door, he dimly registered the pang of hunger that pitched through his stomach; he had gone a full day without taking so much as a morsel. When he opened the door, he half-expected to find a great host come to bear him away as they had done Bilbo the day before, for he felt as close to death as he could remember feeling since his trek into Mordor. However, it was only Gandalf who stood waiting to be admitted, and Frodo stood back so that he could pass.
"I hope I have not disturbed you," said Gandalf, apologetically, "but I thought that you might desire a visitor."
"I appreciate your coming, Gandalf, but I don't think I shall make a very good host," said Frodo regretfully.
"I did not come to sit at tea-table with you Frodo but to speak with you, if I may be permitted. Frodo gave a small, tired nod and offered him a seat.
"I know the shock of what has happened is still very new, and that it will take time to recover from it," Gandalf continued, "but take comfort in the fact that Bilbo left with a willing heart. So it shall be you one day with you; but that day is not yet come. Speaking to you the other night awoke grave concerns in me, Frodo, and I fear your situation is graver still now that the weight of a fresh loss has been thrust upon you. You must not give in to despair. That would be no way to honour the memory of your uncle, and I suspect he would give you a very sharp scolding if you were to go against his express wishes in such wanton fashion. You have wisdom enough in you to accept what cannot be altered and courage enough to endure through this trial; of that, I am certain. You need only to convince yourself of this truth, and then you will find peace."
Frodo inclined his head, as though to receive what strength he could from Gandalf's encouragement. He did not feel wise or courageous, or primed to endure. He felt listless and forlorn and bowed down by an insupportable heaviness.
"I know that Bilbo went of his own accord, and I fully understand his reasons for going now," Frodo replied. "But getting on without him is a contingency I never prepared for. I am afraid I shall feel terribly alone now that he is gone. It sounds horribly selfish, even in my own ears, but there it is. And then, I wonder if I shall ever meet him again, when my time comes. I feel as though I should fly headlong into the arms of death if I could be reunited with him," and his voice faltered and grew silent.
"I cannot answer for what will happen when you accept your mortal fate, as you know, for the ways of Eru are hidden from all save the Valar, and even they do not understand all of his designs. I do know, however, that you were not meant to lay down broken and defeated by your cares, but to leave even as Bilbo himself left: with a clear mind and a happy heart. And you will have them. The night that Bilbo took ill, I said that assistance often rides on the wings of fortune – remember those words! They may prove true in ways that even I cannot foresee."
With that cryptic message, Gandalf was off, and Frodo reflected on all that had occurred in earnest until the protestations of his rumbling stomach grew too insistent to ignore.
