Forgiveness
Frodo stared at Allie with arms crossed. "No," he said, his tone bearing no argument.
"I'm going. There is no stopping me," Allie retorted with a stubborn frown. She wasn't going to back down so easily, just as he had expected.
They had been having breakfast earlier that morning when Allie broke the news that she was riding to Brandy Hall to meet with her father. It had barely been two weeks since Pippin's passing, and they were still reeling from the shock of losing their dear friend. Yet, out of the blue, she wanted to meet with her father? That couldn't end well.
Allie didn't think likewise, for she threw a saddle across Strider's back with all the determination of a soldier marching to war. Traces of sorrow still lingered in the lines of her mouth, but her unbending gaze let Frodo know that there was no changing her mind.
Frodo cut in front of her. "What are you going to do with him?"
Allie stepped past him. "I'm going to take him off Merry and Berilac's hands. They have enough on their plates dealing with Pippin's death." She didn't react to Frodo's wince and added, "They don't need another burden."
"I understand you are in a rush to resolve the issue, but do you have any idea what you are going to do with him once you take him away from Brandy Hall? For starters, where will you even put him?"
"I heard the smial we used to own back in Buckleberry has stayed vacant over the past twenty years, not that I'm surprised. No one in their right mind would ever move in after the history it's seen."
Frodo just stared. Allie couldn't possibly mean the smial where she used to live with her father and brother at the border of Buckleberry! "That place is all but an abandoned hole now, with no suitable living conditions." A chilling thought crossed his mind. "Allie, you are not thinking of moving in with him, are you? I know he is your father, but you don't owe him anything, not after…"
"Frodo," Allie interrupted gently. "I will not live with him."
Frodo's relief was short-lived. "Then what are you going to do with him? If you leave him alone in that place, he won't survive, not in his present mental state. And if his mind is all there, he might pose a threat to others. At least in Brandy Hall he will be under supervision."
"I can't let the Brandybucks take care of him until the end of his days." She passed a weary hand through her ponytail, making a few strands of golden hair escape. "I haven't figured it all out yet, but one thing I know for certain is that I can't let him rot in Brandy Hall for the rest of his life. Even if Merry and Berilac don't mind, I won't feel good about it." She turned away from Frodo to grab onto Strider's saddle. "I will clean up our old smial first and then bring my father there. As to the specifics of what I am going to do with him there… I will reflect on it when the time comes."
Frodo held Allie back by the arm. "Must you do this now?"
"It has to be now. Winter is almost upon us, and it won't be easy to work on the house once the snow comes." She hauled herself up upon Strider's back and looked faraway into trees almost devoid of leaves. "I also need a change of scenery," she finally confessed in a small voice. "I can't bear to stay a second more in my room with nothing else to do."
Frodo let out a long exhale. Fine, if Allie had to embark on another crazy adventure to get over Pippin's death, then he had no choice but to go with her. He opened the door to Surefoot's stand and saddled his pony under Allie's stunned eyes. "What are you doing, Frodo? We can't leave Bag End empty, not with Lobelia around!"
"I haven't even seen that old woman's shadow since Pippin gave her the scare of her life. I don't think she will bother us for a while. For your peace of mind, I will also ask Sam and the Gaffer to keep an eye on the house while we are away."
"Frodo…"
"Allie," Frodo interrupted with a firm tug to Surefoot's saddle to fix it in place. "You don't know me at all if you think I will let you go back to that place by yourself."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Allie getting ready to argue, but then giving it up almost as quickly. She knew they could either argue back and forth all morning or get a head's start to Buckland. "Fine," Allie relented, and on a softer note added, "Thank you."
Frodo pulled her head close to plant a small kiss on her brow.
Once they both saddled their ponies, Frodo locked up Bag End in case of any intruders. They bid Sam farewell on their way out of Hobbiton. Their good friend assured them that he'd keep an eye on the house, before wishing them a smooth trip.
The ride to Buckland was slow and uneventful. Allie spoke little, and Frodo didn't try to force the conversation. After that dreadful day in Hobbiton's cemetery, it seemed a piece of Allie had gone with Pippin, though she tried hard to appear her normal self. The way Allie looked that dreadful day, sprawled upon the muddy ground, completely soaked through with rain and sorrow, still haunted Frodo whenever he let his mind wander.
That horrible afternoon, after Allie and Pippin left for the cemetery, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin's parents headed straight for the Green Dragon. They ordered ale, but no one touched their drinks much. Pippin's imminent transformation weighed heavy on all of them. When an hour passed, and then two, with no sign of Allie or Pippin coming back, Frodo put down the mug he'd barely touched. He didn't want to alarm Pippin's family, but one look into their shattered eyes told him they already shared the same fear.
Frodo knew it was a bad idea to have the entire group go to the cemetery, but he couldn't stop them. Merry, Sam and Pippin's family rushed out in the rain, their walk morphing into a sprint as they made their way toward the cemetery looming a few roads west to the Inn. Soon, they were all soaking wet from the mad downpour falling from the skies.
Frodo was first to reach the tombstone pertaining to Allie's wolves, wheezing and spitting rain out of his mouth. He heard Allie long before he saw her, and the rain turned to ice on his skin. She was howling and crying like he had rarely heard her cry. Under the downpour, she let out scream after scream, with her hands and knees deeply entrenched in the mud. Rain dripped down her messy hair and chin, mingling with her tears. Frodo knelt down next to her with his heart in pieces. He stripped himself of his soaked vest to drape it gently over her head.
Paladin, Eglantine, and all three of Pippin's sisters didn't need any explanation. They fell on their knees beside Allie, crying out Pippin's name with their faces in their hands. Frodo pulled Allie up and hugged her shivering form to his chest, trying to vain to calm her. Soon, Sam and Merry were by their sides, letting out ragged cries with their arms around the two of them.
Frodo truly believed Pippin would have until nightfall, at the very least. Why had the wolf claimed him so soon? They should have prepared themselves for this. They should have never left his side. Grief at the loss of his precious friend clawed at him from within, but he forbade himself from coming undone, not when everyone else around him was already drowning. An ache spread within his chest like a bloodstain on a white handkerchief, but he just hugged Allie's head closer, making shushing sounds that the heavy rainfall easily drowned out.
"I wasn't ready," Allie kept murmuring against him with eyes that had run dry of tears. Over and over she said the words.
"I know," Frodo whispered against her head. "I know."
There was no way she could ever have been ready. The Blood had coldly come and taken his due without any concerns to the hearts such an act would break.
Frodo didn't know how long they stayed under the icy rain, but soon even the marrow of his bones seemed to have turned to ice, and he trembled, with cold or grief he could not tell. In his arms, Allie had finally fallen silent, clinging to his wet shirt with her face against his chest. Frodo lifted his head to meet Sam and Merry's teary gazes. With a trembling chin, he signaled to Pippin's parents and sisters, still down on their knees in the mud. Sam and Merry wiped their eyes and gave him a nod in return.
Frodo watched as his two friends began the almost impossible task of bringing Pippin's family back from the precipice of grief they had fallen into. Eventually, their tears slowed, and they regained enough sense to stand back up on their feet to seek cover from the rain.
Frodo cupped Allie's cheek in a hand numb from the cold. Her skin burned like fire in contrast to his chilled palm. At his touch, she blinked, and a semblance of focus returned to her previously hollow gaze. "Frodo?" she whispered as though she had only just noticed his presence.
"I'm here."
"Pippin…"
"Yes… I know."
She scanned the cemetery with red eyes. "Is he gone?"
Frodo didn't look around, for he knew he'd only see empty graves. "Yes," he answered with his head pressed against hers.
Allie's lip quivered, though her body remained limp, as though all life had been sucked out of her.
"Let's go home, Allie," Frodo said.
Allie offered no resistance when he passed her arms around his neck and picked her up from the ground. At first, he almost let her slip, for his arms were shaking like twigs in the wind, but then he pressed her more firmly against his chest and forced his stiff legs to bring them away from this desolate place. Allie cast one last glance upon the wolves' headstone, before pressing her face back against his shoulder.
Their pitiful group headed back to Bag End, where they dried themselves with fresh towels and changed into dry clothes. Sam lit up a fire in the hearth, though Frodo kept away from it and instead wrapped himself up in several blankets. That night, huddled close to Allie's comatose shape, he couldn't sleep a wink, spending all night shaking as though the rain's chill and the grief of loss had seeped into him and sapped all the warmth left in his body.
The next morning, Paladin and the rest of his family headed back to Tuckborough to grieve the loss of Pippin. How cruel it was, Frodo thought, that they should say their farewells twice. Merry accompanied them on the trip back, while Sam stayed behind to make sure Frodo and Allie were all right. Frodo was finally beginning to feel warm again, with the night behind him and the October sun filtering through the window, but Allie stayed in bed, afflicted with a fever.
Frodo didn't remember ever seeing her fall ill. Ever since he'd known her, and perhaps because of the Blood, she had almost seemed immune to sickness. Now, she breathed raggedly with a red flash to her face and a fire burning beneath her forehead. Frodo wondered what this bout of fever meant as he applied a cold compress to her brow. Was it just the grief, or was the elvish magic already fading within her, rending her more prone to illness? Would the wolf claim her sooner than Galadriel had predicted? Frodo pushed that fear aside lest it consumed his every waking moment.
Allie spent two days in bed as the fever slowly receded, just staring out the window into the bare branches of the trees and the dead leaves pooling around the roots. On the third day, she finally came out to have breakfast, and spoke to Frodo again for the first time since Pippin's death. Day by day, she got better and closer to her usual self. To anyone else, she might look just a little sad, but Frodo had known her long enough to recognize the walls erected behind her gaze; the same walls she always built whenever she was in deep pain or lost within herself. And now she wanted to deal with her father while in this vulnerable state of mind. She was either the strongest or the most foolish person he'd ever met.
As they rode on the road leading to Buckland, Frodo stared at her bright ponytail swinging behind her with each of Strider's steps. He so wished he could protect her from what was to come, but knew some battles were hers alone to fight. So immersed he was in his thoughts that he didn't notice the road widening up ahead until suddenly Buckland's landscape spread out in front of him like a tapestry being unfolded. A gust of wind blew over, and Frodo shuddered in his coat. Ever since Pippin's passing and those long minutes spent under the chilly rain, the cold always seemed to find a quick way under his skin.
His pony paused next to Strider, and Frodo glanced over at Allie's profile. He expected her to be looking at the scenery, but she had her grey eyes set on him instead. Before he could say anything, she guided Strider closer until he stood flank to flank with Surefoot. Then, she unwrapped her pink scarf and reached over her mount to wind it around his neck.
The scarf still kept her warmth and her scent, and Frodo eased into it with a small sign of content. Allie always seemed to know when something was amiss with him, even when she was going through something painful herself. He reached out his gloved hand and Allie squeezed it briefly with a small smile, her first real one since Pippin's passing.
Allie stopped just beyond the gate to her old hobbit-hole in Buckleberry. Tall weeds had invaded the unkempt yard, and dark creepers had crawled up to cover one whole side of the wall. She had promised herself never to set foot in this house again, though life had taught her once and again that it was full of cycles and irony. So now here she stood, in the place where everything had begun.
Memories from her childhood, most of the unpleasant variety, resurfaced from the depths where she had kept them immersed. Like bubbles drifting up to the water's surface, they popped into her mind one after the other.
Looking out at the world from that small broken window
Playing in the mud on a weed-infested yard
The slamming of the front door
Father looking over with his dark eyes
Father drawing closer
Father's iron hand in her hair, pulling her across the floorboard
A hand to her shoulder disrupted the flow of images. She startled around, only to meet Frodo's questioning eyes.
"I'm all right," she said in response to his silent inquiry. "Just… many memories here."
Frodo didn't say anything, only directed an encouraging nod toward the abandoned house.
Allie turned to the old gate and tried to push it open, but the rusty hinges refused to budge. After a second unsuccessful try, she let it go and stepped back instead. Gathering momentum, she ran forth and jumped over the brittle fence.
Behind her, Frodo followed suit. When he landed in her yard, she realized he had never set foot inside her house. When she used to live here with Father and Robin, she'd always unconsciously kept her friends at bay, not wanting her world playing with them to collide with her world at home. Whatever happened inside these walls should be kept contained, lest the darkness spread like an infection to everything else that was good.
Even now, a part of her was reluctant to allow Frodo inside the place she hated most above all else, even more so than the dark lands of Mordor. This house bore the traces of countless beatings, curse words, tears and even blood; a dirty and hidden world that only existed for her father, brother, and herself. The least people touched by such a world, the better.
Frodo brushed past Allie, and before she could stop him, he resolutely turned the rusty knob and pushed open the dreaded front door with its half peeled red paint. In several places on the door, only bare wood remained, rough and cold under her fingers when she reached out to touch it. Frodo gave the door a light shove, and it creaked inward with a wood-splitting sound, revealing dark interiors that smelled like moisture and closed off space.
The light of day crept onto the broken floorboards for the first time in ages. It surprised Allie to see furniture still present in the main room: a dirty and half-collapsed couch; chairs with missing legs lying askew on the floor; a caved-in kitchen counter. Some kids must have come and vandalized whatever they had left behind.
Frodo gave the dark rooms a once-over with a look she couldn't decipher. Was he trying to picture her life in this place? It was a good thing he witnessed none of the horrors that had unfolded in this place.
"I can't believe I never set foot in here when we were children," he said in a low voice. "If I had seen…" he gestured toward the abandoned rooms. "… all of this. If I had realized things sooner, I could have gotten you out of here."
"You came here once, remember?" Seeing his frown, Allie added, "The day we first met. Robin brought you here."
"Oh, that's right," Frodo said with brows burrowed in disquiet.
"Don't feel too guilty over not noticing. You were only a child back then, and you couldn't even conceive of such things happening between a parent and their child. Loving parents raised you, Merry and Pippin, and all the other children. There is nothing wrong with that; in fact, it is how things should be. We were the odd ones out here; the ones with the dirty secret. Even if you had been to my house, you would have guessed nothing to be amiss. Father was always careful not to leave any traces."
Frodo walked to the dilapidated kitchen counter and clenched the dusty edge. "Then why do you bother with the likes of him? I could speak to someone, perhaps the Mayor, and have him be brought back to the prison-holes."
"He did his time for his crimes. Unless he commits another murder, which I have to make sure he never does, the laws of your land cannot force him back into the prison-holes." Allie walked to the window and peered outside through the broken glass like she used to do every day when she her father had imprisoned her at home. "He has always been my dirty baggage, one I can't seem to shake off, even to the very end. Until I figure out what I should do with him, I might as well restore this place to how it used to be."
Frodo let out a heavy sigh behind her. "Then we better get started. There are still a few hours of daylight left."
Allie didn't answer. She had turned away from the window and her eyes had fallen upon the old closet at the end of the living room. The doors were still missing, and the inside was as dark as night. Thick cobwebs hung from the edges, and a few spiders lay in wait in the middle, dark spots against the white, moving their long legs as they crawled upon the web.
Allie's breath hitched in her throat. She hugged herself to soothe the gooseflesh that had broken over her arms, barely noticing her back digging into the windowsill. That dreaded closet had appeared so many times in her nightmares and continued to have a dreadful hold over her, one she couldn't break.
Whenever she had been in pain, either from her wolf transformation or from warfare, she'd always sink right back into those two days of confinement. She'd birthed a dark monster within herself then, one that lusted over violence. The Blood must have sensed that monster within her, and therefore chosen her to be the one to end all the other Queens, leaving a bloody trail of corpses in the wake of her passage. That was what her life had amounted to, one killing after another, starting with her mother and ending with the Mouth of Sauron. Or would he not be her last one? Would she continue to kill, even though she no longer had a reason to? She had surely come close with her father.
"Allie?" Frodo's voice resonated near her, making her jump and dig her back further into the windowsill.
"What's the matter?" he said again, coming to stand between her and the closet.
Allie let out a small sigh of relief when Frodo partially hid it from view. "The closet," she whispered, seeing no point in lying to him.
Frodo looked over his shoulder at the broken closet, and the corners of his mouth dropped slightly. He put both hands on Allie's shoulder and guided her to the kitchen area. "You get started here," he said. "I'll take care of the closet. It will be gone before nightfall." He then headed out to grab the axe and several other tools they had brought with them.
Allie forced her breathing to come back to normal. It was silly to still let a mere closet affect her so. It was just a broken piece of furniture now, with no power to hurt her. Still, she kept her back to it as she dusted off the kitchen area.
Frodo did as he promised, and by the time they took a break for dinner, all that remained of the closet was a pile of broken pieces of wood and twisted nail heads. Allie stood at the door in awe when she came back from throwing away another pile of broken furniture. Frodo crouched next to the remnants of the closet, stacking together the pieces of broken wood to transport them out later. Despite the chilly November air drifting in from the open door, his neck glistened with sweat. He finished roping the wood together and flashed a proud smile her way, one that lifted his round cheeks and made his eyes sparkle. "It's all done. It was old, and not at all hard to dismantle. You won't ever have to see it again."
Allie knelt down next to him and passed a towel around his neck. "Or you are just too good at breaking things," she said fondly while she dabbed the sweat off his face.
Frodo smiled, unconsciously flexing the fingers of his bandaged hand. Allie had seen him do that more and more recently, and it was worrying her. His right hand seemed colder than the rest of his body.
That night, while they rested in the guest room at Brandy Hall that Merry had so kindly provided, Allie sat at the desk next to their bed with a piece of blank parchment in front of her. Frodo was already asleep, wrapped under several layers of blankets with only a mop of black hair peaking beneath his bundled shape. Allie watched him for several seconds while stroking her chin with the feather of her quill. Then, she dipped it in the ink and began a letter addressed to Gandalf.
Allie and Frodo made excellent progress on the old house over the next two weeks. By the beginning of December, they had replaced all the kitchen cabinets and counters, fixed the broken fence and the gate, and repaired the windowpane. Only the yard still required finishing touches, and then it would be over and Allie would have to think about what to do next.
On a chilly and cloudy afternoon, Allie looked up from raking the yard clean of fallen leaves when the sound of thundering hooves rolled down the hill. Two ponies appeared in sight, and she frowned in surprise upon recognizing the riders. The first one to slide off his horse was Sam, and behind him came his sister Marigold. She was the last person Allie had expected to see in this place.
Sam was all bundled up in a thick brown coat and white scarf to ward off the autumn chill, but Marigold only wore a sleek white coat with a white hat to match.
Frodo spotted them too from inside the house and strode over the yard to meet them. "Sam!" he exclaimed, before exchanging an accolade with his friend. He then turned cautiously toward Marigold, who was observing the scene from beside her pony. "It has been a long time, Marigold. Have you been well?"
Marigold gave him a curt nod, but did not smile.
"To what may we owe this visit?" Frodo asked. He tried to hide his nerves in front of Marigold, but Allie could easily see how tense his back was.
"I heard you were working on Allie's old house, so I thought you could use some help," Sam answered.
"I wanted to help too," Marigold added. "I know we didn't leave on the best of notes, but I wanted to see if we can still mend things. You are my brother's best friend, after all, so I thought we should at least be on speaking terms."
"Of course. I'm sorry I wasn't in the best state to talk last time you visited, but we should have a proper conversation at last. Come on in. It's too chilly to be standing out here."
"Not that the inside is much better," Allie said upon coming close. "But at least the walls will ward you off against the wind."
Marigold's hazel eyes turned her way, and Allie tensed, wondering if her presence would set Marigold off again. However, Marigold only acknowledged her words with a calm nod, and then pointed toward their saddlebag. "My father sends his regards, along with some packed food. You can help yourselves to it."
That being said, she walked past the yard toward the house without another word. Sam pulled the saddlebag open and handed a wrapped package to Frodo. "That is awfully kind of the Old Gaffer," Frodo whispered to Sam. "Are you sure he didn't poison it?"
Allie bit back a smile at his remark, though there was nothing laughable about the matter. The old Gaffer hadn't taken well the separation between Frodo and his daughter, as one might expect.
Sam shook his head. "I had a slice of the pie on the way. It seems fine."
Frodo actually scanned Sam from head to toe, as though expecting his friend to keel over any second. "All right, then." He gave a hesitant shrug toward Allie before heading back inside.
Sam sighed. "I really doubt things between Frodo and my sister can ever not be awkward again." He turned to Allie, and his gaze turned sad as thoughts of Pippin floated unspoken between them. "How are you faring, Allie?"
Allie leaned on her rake. "Better. Working on the house has taken my mind off things."
Sam gave the smial a once-over. "It seems you are almost finished."
"I only have the yard left, and some paintwork on the walls and doors, but that's the extent of it." Allie marked a pause. "How is your sister? I haven't seen her since the day she came by Bag End."
"It's hard to tell what's on her mind these days, but we have had several talks about her situation with Mr. Frodo. In her head, she knows it is over, but her emotions still get the better of her more often than not."
Allie flashed him a sympathetic smile. "It must be hard for you, caught in between your sister and your best friend."
"And my father," Sam groaned. "The Old Gaffer won't leave Marigold alone, telling her to just move on with it, but Marigold is a delicate soul, and the separation affected her greatly. It doesn't help that Bag End is just a few yards away." His glance fleeted toward Allie. "It mustn't be easy for you either."
Allie hadn't really had time to ponder over Frodo and Marigold's past relationship because of recent events. But really, what was there to ponder? Words, and even blows, had already been exchanged. She could only hope time would mend whatever friendship remained in the aftermath.
After Sam also went inside the house, Allie pulled her hat low over her ears and resumed raking the yard, working energetically to keep the cold at bay. On such a chilly day, she missed how hot her blood used to run when she called upon the wolf inside of her.
Casting her gaze upon the grey clouds heavy with an imminent snow fall, she exhaled her nostalgia in a puff of white smoke. She may not have a pack anymore, but she had gained her original life back, at least for a short while. Every day, she counted her blessings and was happy just to be alive. Life was too short to spend on regrets or hold on to old grudges.
She had an epiphany then about what to do about her father. It was the only thing she could do, really, if she wanted to move on with her life.
The sound of crunching leaves pulled her out of her musings, and she looked down from the skies to see Marigold approaching with her brother's scarf tightly wound around her neck and face. Allie's hands involuntarily tightened around the rake as she followed the steady progression of the other lass.
Marigold inexorably stepped over piles of dead leaves scattered in small groups across the yard, keeping her arms to the side to stay balanced as she made closed the distance between them. "Hello, Allie," she said upon arriving at Allie's level.
"Hello, Marigold," Allie replied in a careful voice.
"The lads are about to finish with the wall paint, so I thought I'd help you with the yard."
Allie couldn't read Marigold's true intent behind her carefully composed features. "That's kind of you. You can help me dump the leaves in those buckets, then."
For the next few minutes, Allie and Marigold worked side by side in silence, Allie piling up the leaves with her rake and Marigold grabbing them by the handful and dumping them inside the buckets. When all three pails were full, Allie signaled to the grass field, almost bare of any grass at this time of year, and told her to dump the dead leaves in the field. Marigold gave her docile nod and headed over to finish the task. Her silent compliance made Allie's heart pound with unease. She doubted Marigold had forgiven her enough to act like nothing had happened between them, so what was she really after?
Allie was raking up the last of the leaves when Marigold came back with the empty buckets. "I can take care of the rest," Allie said with a nod. "You should head back inside."
"Allie, there is something I need to ask you."
Allie inhaled carefully. So there it was at last. She leaned on her rake and simply waited.
Marigold looked her straight in the eye, her cheeks slightly flushed from the physical labor of the last few minutes. "I heard about what happened to Pippin. Is it true that you will share his fate in a few years?"
Allie bit the inside of her cheek, wondering how Marigold had found out.
"I overhead Sam talking about it with Merry after what happened to Pippin," Marigold added, as though she had read Allie's thoughts. Her hazel eyes held a tinge of sympathy, but also resolve at getting answers.
Allie's hands had tightened around the rake, and she saw no point in lying. "Yes, that's right."
Marigold let out a small huff, as though she'd half expected Allie to deny it. "Does Frodo know about it?"
"Of course he does."
Marigold pinched her lips together. "How can you do this to him, Allie?" Without waiting for Allie's reply, she pursued with a burning gaze. "You left him once, and you will leave him again. Yet he still chooses you." Marigold shook her head. "I understand he can't be the one who walks away, but in that case you should be the one doing the right thing."
Marigold's gaze pierced through her like a lance. "When we were little, you were always the fearless one among us. You always wanted to do the right thing and were never afraid to get your hands dirty to get it done. I admired that about you, all the while knowing I could never do the same. Why have you changed so much?"
Allie was squeezing the rake so tight that it wouldn't be surprising for the wood to snap any second.
"Why aren't you doing the right thing now?" Marigold pressed. "Why do you hold on to him when you know you will end up hurting him all over again?"
Allie stood frozen, unable to articulate a single reply. The wood of the rake bit into her palms, though she remained numb to the pain.
Marigold huffed at the sight of her utter speechlessness. "You may love him, but you don't know him like I do. While you were away, I was the one who kept him company, the one who made him laugh, the one who shared his bed." Ignoring Allie's sharp inhale, she continued, relentless, "he may have changed, and that scared me for a time, but not anymore, not after knowing that he will be left alone again. So, I made up my mind a few days ago. I will wait for him. I still love him, and I want to be here for him. Perhaps then he will come to see that my feelings are also sincere."
Anger rose inside Allie, but there was nothing she could say without sounding utterly selfish, so she kept silent and just clenched the rake for dear life.
"I'm sorry that such a fate awaits you Allie, I really am. But I wanted to give you the chance to do the right thing, should you choose to do so." She turned on her heel and began walking back toward the house.
"And what would be this right thing you speak of?" Allie whispered into the air heavy with snow.
Marigold paused without looking back.
"Do you perhaps mean I should leave him?" Allie continued in a quiet voice. "I should walk away and die alone in some dark corner, away from his sight?"
Marigold flipped around, her hazel eyes wide. "I never said such a thing."
"No, but it is what you really mean, isn't it?" Allie dropped the rake and made her way toward a now recoiling Marigold. "If doing such a thing would truly make Frodo happy, trust me, I would have done it long ago. In fact, I have been doing it for the past twenty years, and would have continued keeping my distance until the end of my days, if not for the Ring's dark fate that brought us together again." She stopped advancing when Marigold's bewildered face stood but an inch from hers. "I don't need you to tell me we won't have a happy ending. I have known it since the day I turned into a wolf. I have tried walking away from him so many times, but that silly rascal keeps holding onto me, saying that he still wants me, even though he knows it will hurt worse than dying when all is said and done." She shook her head. "So I won't betray him by walking away first."
Marigold clenched her jaw so hard that red spots exploded on her cheeks.
"You can wait for him," Allie pursued. "I can't prevent you from doing that, nor can I decide what he does after I'm gone, but as long as I'm alive, you should keep your distance. He's the one thing I won't ever give up."
Allie walked away before Marigold could say anything more. Frodo had been the one reason she had struggled so hard to stay alive. That had been the hardest hurdle of all, and now staying with him was the simple choice. Still, Marigold's words had stirred a small knife in her chest.
She'd known Frodo and Marigold had been lovers for three years' time, but hadn't truly thought about the implications until Marigold had stated them so bluntly. For Allie, Frodo had been her first lover, though it had been silly of her to presume that she had been his, too.
"Of course not, you silly lass," she whispered to herself. Still, she couldn't help the jealousy that rocked through her when the image of Frodo and Marigold lying in bed together burst through her mind.
Allie entered the house to the sound of light banter coming from Frodo and Sam. She knew right away that she wouldn't be able to look Frodo in the eye right now, not without betraying the shameful frustration she carried inside.
"Let's call it a day," she said with her back to the lads as she put away the tools.
Frodo interrupted his conversation with Sam to throw her a puzzled look over his paintbrush. "We should continue for a bit more. I can finish the paintwork before the end of the day."
Allie straightened up and flashed him a quick smile. "You do that, then. I hope you won't mind me leaving first. I want to get a heads-start at Brandy Hall to get ready to transport my father."
Frodo carefully put the wet brush down on a piece of wood and turned his full attention onto her. A bit of white paint had gotten onto his cheek and fine white dust sprinkled his nose. Allie was moved by how hard Frodo had been working for her sake.
"Will you really leave him here by himself?" Frodo asked.
"I won't leave him here alone with no guarantees. Don't worry. I know what I have to do now. I will see you back at Brandy Hall. You too, Sam."
Sam waved farewell, still focused on the paintwork, but Frodo held on to her arm with an inquisitive look. "Is everything all right, Allie?"
Allie shook off the last remnants of the images that Marigold's words had ignited in her mind and smeared off the paint on his cheek with a small smile. "Yes, Frodo. I just want this to be over."
Frodo gave her arm a reassuring pat. "Me, too. Safe ride to Brandy Hall."
The next morning, Allie paused in front of the last door in a remote section of Brandy Hall ordinarily reserved to distinguished guests who wished for quieter surroundings. Presently, the room's occupant was more of a prisoner than a guest. She stepped aside to allow the butler to insert a key into the lock. The mechanism clicked as the lock popped open. Allie meant to grab the doorknob, but the butler stopped her with a shake of his head.
Allie had heard that Marroc had once tried to break free when a maid had brought him dinner. Luckily, the butler had been there to restrain him before he could escape or harm the frightened maid. Allie signaled to the old hobbit with greying temples that she could handle it, and the butler was more than happy to let her do the honors of being the first person to enter.
Allie turned the doorknob and waited with one hand around the stick hanging from her waistband. The seconds ticked by and no madman yanked at the door from the other side. Allie took a step back and gave it a discreet but firm kick, making it fly open all the way until it hit the wall. The butler tensed behind her, but the open doorway simply revealed a dimly lit room containing the most basic of necessities. A wooden bed stood under the window, and beside it, a worn desk and a chair.
The butler's shoulders sagged in relief when they spotted Marroc sitting slumped upon the chair. He had not stirred at all upon his two visitors' arrival. Sitting with his back to them, he stared out the barricaded window at the big white snowflakes drifting outside, landing softly on barren boughs, empty meadows and houses half-buried under a white mantle. His thinning grey hair fell haphazardly around his skull, falling almost to his shoulders. He mustn't have had a haircut in ages. Her father lifted his head an inch, and the sharp wing of two shoulder blades bulged against the thin sweater hanging from his emaciated shape.
Allie gave a brief nod to the butler, reassuring him she could be left alone with the prisoner. The butler, eager to get out of Marroc's presence, was more than happy to make his escape down the hall.
Allie reported her attention back to her father and gently clicked the door shut behind her. The memory of his acrid stench when Lobelia first brought him to Bag End made her almost hold her breath again, though thankfully he now no longer smelled like he had been bathing in a pond of decomposing fish. The time had finally come for her to face him properly, and she stepped forth without hesitation. "Father," she called, her voice ringing clear and cold in the silent room.
The word felt strange leaving her mouth, for it was one she hadn't said out loud in years.
Marroc turned away from the window. Myriads of wrinkles adorned his brow and the corners of his eyes, making him look eighty instead of fifty. However, those dark pupils of his were just as she remembered, filled with veiled menace even now.
"You recognize me," she stated more than asked.
Marroc stood with the help of the chair, though his stance was much firmer than the drunken gait he'd displayed in front of Bag End. Allie used to always tilt her head up to meet his gaze, but now she had grown tall enough to look him in the eye, and so she did piercingly until Marroc closed a gnarled hand around the backseat of the chair and broke eye contact first. "So we meet again like this," he said in a gruff voice, as though he'd been smoking pipe weed every day for the past twenty years, though Allie knew the prison-holes did not offer such luxury.
For only response, Allie took the coat she had draped over her arm and threw it in his direction. Marroc made no gesture to catch it, and the coat fell in a puddle of grey at his feet.
"Get dressed. We are leaving."
The corners of Marroc's mouth turned up into a vile smile. "Are you bringing me back to that fancy place of yours in Hobbiton?"
"I see you remember that much from your days of madness. Or did you only pretend to have lost your mind?"
Marroc snickered without answering.
Allie shrugged. "Either way, it matters not. Personally, I think you were truly not yourself, otherwise you would never call me by my mother's name."
Marroc's smile disappeared. Fast as a snake, he was suddenly in front of her, his bony hands extended toward her throat. Allie stepped out of his reach and hit him square in the chest with the stick she'd pulled from her belt. Marroc fell back, landing face first into the crumpled coat.
"Get dressed," Allie repeated, her voice calm.
Marroc threw her a look of pure hatred and spat a glob of saliva at her feet, but seeing Allie unfazed by his display, he begrudgingly picked up the coat and passed his arms through the sleeves, groaning with the effort of lifting his right shoulder.
When he had fully dressed, Allie pointed to the window with her stick. "Turn around to face the window and put your hands together behind your back."
Marroc glowered at her one last time, but slowly complied. Allie marched forth and, with fast and precise movements, tied his hands together with a piece of rope. As she worked on the knot, her father let out a cackle. "So it is true, what they say about you? That you turned into an abomination?"
Allie stayed silent, focused on her task.
"They say you turned into a monster, but they also say you saved the world. Ha! Can't they even keep their stories straight? How can a monster save the world? I bet the part about you being a monster is true." He turned his head slightly, but Allie tapped him on the temple. "Keep on facing forward," she said.
"I thought you would have left this place long ago, but you stayed tied down here too, didn't you?" Marroc hissed. "This cursed land will see the end to the both of us."
Allie finished her knot and maneuvered her father around, not paying heed to his grunt of protest. "I did leave," she said. "Though it had nothing to do with you. And I returned of my own accord because I have a home here now, a concept that must seem foreign to you. The only one still tied down to the past is you. Get moving."
She shoved him toward the door, and he stumbled forward. They left the room and walked down the somber tunnels of Brandy Hall, he in front, she behind with a tight grip on her end of the rope and the point of her stick against his back. Merry and Berilac were waiting for her near the entrance, fully dressed in their fox coats.
Allie stopped in front of the Brandybuck lads and flashed them a small smile. "Thank you for all your help. I really mean it."
Merry gave her a toothy smile and a clap on the back with his gloved hand. "I will keep his room available, in case he misbehaves and needs to come back."
Berilac walked into Marroc's space to stare him straight in the eyes. "You better not do anything stupid, old man, or I will chase you down. Got it?"
Marroc meant to spit to his face, but Berilac saw it coming and stepped back before the spittle even left Marroc's mouth.
"Save your saliva or I will make you run a few lapses in the courtyard until your mouth is as dry as old parchment," he warned. The burned scar on his cheek gave his features a harsh edge, and Marroc thought better than to continue the confrontation.
Allie couldn't help addressing an amused glance in Berilac's direction. He had not changed from the ferocious lad she used to know, one who didn't think twice about spitting the best insults straight to other people's faces. She'd lost count of the number of times Berilac had made fun of her when they were kids. It seemed he could still bring out that side of him when necessary.
Allie shoved her father's back with the stick, and he began heading down the snow-covered stairs with a grim pinch to his lips.
Frodo was waiting for them in the snow-covered courtyard at the bottom of the stairs. He was shivering slightly despite all his layers, the thick black scarf around his neck and the hat pulled down low on his ears. Marroc paused in front of him, and Frodo stared back with an icy glint in his usually sympathetic blue eyes.
Allie's father tensed at the end of the rope. "What are you looking at? Huh?"
Frodo scanned his face for another second. "I truly pity you," he finally said. "You had two wonderful children and you couldn't even see it. Things could have been different, if only you had just tried."
Marroc threw his head back and laughed throatily. "A deserter and a killer? Yes, I truly had the best children in the world."
Allie saw Frodo clenching his hand into a fist, and she quickly stepped over to his side. "He's not worth it," she whispered. "Don't bother trying to talk reason into him."
Frodo let out a forced exhale, forming of cloud of white in front of his face. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
"Yes. Wait for me here. I will come back when I'm done."
Frodo threw one last glance at Marroc, before giving Allie a small nod. He headed up the stairs and went to stand beside Merry and Berilac.
Allie gave the three lads one last smile and egged her father on again with her stick. For long minutes, they trudged through a path of undisturbed snow, Marroc's shuffling gait creating uneven footprints that Allie stepped on in his wake. Soon, her father was panting for breath, his physical condition far from what it used to be twenty years ago. It was unthinkable for him to lay a single finger on her now, though she kept her guard up.
Marroc stumbled in the snow, slowing his pace down to a crawl. Allie sighed, but did not poke him again with the stick, for it wouldn't make her father go any faster. She allowed herself to breathe in the crispy winter air. Snowflakes kissed her cheeks and got caught in her eyelashes. She opened her mouth slightly, and a few landed on her tongue like a cold mist.
They bypassed Buck Hill and crossed the empty marketplace, before taking the familiar road toward the edge of Buckleberry. Her father must have recognized the path to their old house by now, for he kept throwing confused glances back at her, as though wondering whether she was truly taking him there.
The grass field at the end of the road appeared in sight, now transformed into a sea of shimmering snow that stretched out further than Allie remembered. The dark mass of the forest lay beyond the line of snow-covered pine trees. Beside the snow field, their old smial peaked out of the frozen hillside, a revived relic from the past.
Marroc stood as still as an ice statue while his gaze swept across the newly spruced yard, the newly repaired gate, and the grey column of smoke drifting out of the working chimney.
Allie gave him a shove, and her father stumbled forward, barely catching himself with the help of the frozen gate. He turned two bewildered eyes her way, but said nothing, not that she expected him to. "Go on," she said.
Slowly, Marroc turned toward the house and pushed the gate open. It slid inward smoothly, without a single creak. Carefully, as though stepping on a landmine instead of snow, Marroc crossed the courtyard toward the familiar red door. That door also opened inward without making a sound, courtesy of newly oiled hinges. Allie entered after him and quickly shut the door against winter's chill. A pleasant heat engulfed them, thanks to the fire burning merrily in the hearth. Soon, the snow that had piled up on their hair and clothes melted into droplets that sank into the foldings of their coat.
Marroc gazed at the basic but clean interiors. The place was barely recognizable from the pitiful hole it used to be. If Allie didn't have any history here, she could almost believe it had always been this warm and cozy. Marroc must have been thinking the same, for he stood still and dripping wet in utmost disbelief as the orange glow of the fire danced upon his craggy features.
Allie undid the rope holding his hands together, but her father barely seemed to feel it. He looked as stunned as though she had just clobbered him in the head.
After long seconds, he suddenly remembered her presence and turned dark eyes upon her face once more.
For the first time since Allie had known him, she didn't see any grudge or spite in his gaze.
"Why?" he croaked.
Allie understood well the part of his question that remained unspoken. Why had she done all this? Why had she restored this place to a better state than it had seen when she had lived here with her father? Why had she brought him here at all?
"You needed a place to stay," she replied, her tone not warm nor cold, merely factual.
Clearly at a loss for words, Marroc looked around again as though unable to believe in the reality of this place. He had surely expected something unpleasant when Allie had appeared earlier in his room. He had surely expected her to beat him, to threaten him, or to leave him stranded in the wild until he froze to death. After all, those were all things he would have done had their positions been exchanged. However, what he got instead was the warm glow of a fire against his chilled skin and a steady roof over his head that did not leak or threaten to crumble from a mere rainstorm. As he looked around, perhaps he finally saw the potential that this place had held since the beginning. The person who had shown him that was no other than the one he had beaten, belittled and cast aside. His face flushed red while a vein popped out on his forehead. "Don't even try to fool me," he hissed. "You are going to leave me here and set fire to the place, just like how you did to that barn!"
Allie watched his tortured expression with a sinking heart. What else had she expected out of someone like him? To the very end, he would remain vile.
Marroc took her silence as assent, and his spite returned tenfold. "Ha!" he exclaimed in dark victory and even a hint of relief. "You thought you could hide your true intentions from me? I know the monstrous side of you, my daughter. I'm the only one who knows." He finished with a mad cackle.
"You know nothing about me, Father," Allie said. "When I set fire to the barn, I stooped down to your level. I let you win. Never again."
"Liar! You would do it again in a heartbeat!"
Allie approached her father, the flickering fire giving her eyes a metallic glint. "Had I met you a year ago, I would no doubt have done what you say. I would have closed my hands around your throat and squeezed very slowly as I looked into your eyes. I would have smiled while life drained out of your miserable self."
Her father pressed his back against the table. In front of him no longer stood the little girl he used to terrorize, but a stranger whom he had never known. The fire drew an orange halo around her wild hair as she prowled forward, no longer a hobbit, but something akin to a wild wolf. She closed her cool fingers around his burning throat, and Marroc whined, gripping the table behind him until his knuckles turned white. She leaned forward, and for a crazy second, Marroc truly thought she was going to sink her teeth into his throat. However, she simply pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, "Lucky for you, I am not that person anymore."
She drew back, her eyes glinting silver to the light of the fire, mere inches from his sweating face. A small smile lifted the corner of her lip. "Locked in that dark room in Brandy Hall, you must have heard stories about me. You must have heard them saying I turned into something unnatural, a beast that commands thousands of wild wolves, a beast that fought in the Great War and survived against the greatest terror of this Age. All of those stories are true, Father. Don't you remember the wolf in Bag End when you tried to make a scene?" She waited until frightened recollection came alight in his eyes.
Allie ran the tip of her tongue along a corner of her upper lip. "My pack is still out there… watching… always watching with those glistening eyes of theirs. And theirs are not the only eyes you will need to be wary of. You should have not lied to the Master of Buckland nor tried to spit at Berilac Brandybuck." Her finger traced a line down the quickening pulse at his throat. "If that small murderous voice inside of you ever becomes big again and tells you to do bad things, just remember all those eyes keeping watch. Next time, you might end up somewhere darker and more sickening than those prison-holes, a place that will make you beg for death, for even death shall be sweeter than what awaits you out there, in the dark wilderness. We like to keep our prey alive for days and days while we feed on them, limb by limb, bone by bone. You will suffer, but you will not die, at least not until the pain turns you mad first."
Allie gave her father's throat one last tap before stepping back. Marroc slid down against the table and fell to the floor. His dark eyes were shaking while ragged breaths whooshed out of his slack jaw. His eyes flew to the window, as though scared a sea of red beastly eyes awaited him outside. However, all he saw was a blizzard of snow, hiding the world behind a veil of stormy white. The wind had picked up in the snowstorm's wake, making the walls creak and crack like the painful joints of an arthritic old man.
Allie watched her father cower at the foot of the table, shaking with terror. She let out a small sigh, only hoping his fear would not be too short-lived. Like Frodo and Merry had both said, there was always a risk of him causing trouble again. Though Berilac had promised her he'd have hobbits always keep some type of surveillance on him.
Allie walked to the door and opened it. The sound of the wind rushing in like a howling wolf made her father's head jerk up. "Wait!" he cried out hoarsely, no longer bothering to hide his terror. "Are you truly leaving me here alone?"
"You did not expect me to live with you again, did you?"
Marroc crawled toward her, throwing regular glances back at the window. "But the beasts…"
"… will leave you alone as long as you keep to your conscience. What I wish, Father, is for you to reflect upon your wrongdoings and repent for them, if you can find any repentance left within yourself."
"Why? What does it even matter to you?" he screamed. "You hate me! I know you do!" he gestured wildly at the clean house behind him. "Why did you do all this? You must have some ulterior move. You must!"
Allie closed the door again to block out the howling wind. In the ensuing quiet, she gazed down at the diminished shape of her father, nothing like the giant shadow that had plagued her nightmares for a good part of her life, and only felt pity for the crazed man at her feet. "You are right. I had a reason for doing this. I cleaned this place of our past, Father." She knelt down next to him. "You have always hated me for causing Mother's death, and for the longest time I believed I deserved every bit of your scorn. For the longest time, I couldn't even love myself. But it was never so much about me as it was about you, wasn't it? Every hit, every insult, every lie you ever told, were all things you truly wished to inflict upon yourself. But you couldn't, so you projected them onto me instead. You were too cowardly to look at yourself in the mirror and admit that you were not strong enough to rise above your loss."
Marroc winced as though she had hit him.
Allie stood back up. "You want to keep me shackled here, forever the little lass you used to terrorize, but I'm not scared of you anymore."
"Why did you even bother with this house?" Marroc said to the ground.
"Because I forgive you."
Marroc's head flew up and his eyes became dark pools of incomprehension. "What did you just say?"
"I said that I forgive you."
Marroc looked stricken, as though she had just slain him with a sword instead of having uttered three mere words. Allie didn't want to hold a grudge against him anymore, for that would allow him to keep a hold on her mind. To forgive was to let go, and after so many years, she was finally ready to cast out her father and all the memories associated with him.
No longer able to sustain her gaze, Marroc let his head sink back in between his shoulder blades. A single tear rolled out of the corner of his eye and dripped down his nose.
Allie didn't know why, but her eyes also began to sting. "Goodbye, Father," she whispered. She found the doorknob behind her and pulled the door open. One last glance at her father's prostrated shape, and then she was out in the biting cold.
The cutting wind hit her square in the face, blinding her with a flurry of white flakes. Pulling her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose, she turned away from the house and resolutely walked away from that chapter in her life.
The wind picked up in intensity as she trudged back toward Brandy Hall. Despite the biting cold against her face and the snow slowing her down, there was a lightness in her step she had never felt before. The shadow of her father, a dark mantle that had loomed over her since birth, had finally been lifted. All her life, she thought she could only free herself by killing him, but that would have just shackled to a world of darkness. Instead, the words of forgiveness she had uttered were like the sun piercing through dark clouds.
The stormy air she breathed in burned her lungs, but she couldn't stop smiling as she ran through the snow until Buck Hill peeked in the distance. Of course, at that moment she couldn't know that she had seen her father alive for the last time.
Two winters from now, he would pass out drunk in a ditch by the side of the road.
When the villagers would find him the next morning, he would have already frozen to death.
Frodo settled down more comfortably upon the windowsill overlooking a scenery of white snow falling in dense flurries. The snow had started two hours ago and did not give any signs of halting. Allie was not yet back, and Frodo tried not to worry too much.
Merry had initially suggested they should follow her in secret. Frodo had briefly entertained the idea, but ended up shaking his head. If Allie had decided to do this alone, they should respect her wishes and trust that she could handle it. Still, it had been two hours since she'd left with Marroc in tow. It only took twenty minutes to trudge down Buck Hill and cross Buckleberry market, perhaps half an hour with Marroc's lumbering gait. If Allie was just bringing her father back home, she should have been back half an hour ago.
Frodo lit up his pipe, but even the scent of Toby's leaves did not soothe his nerves. He hadn't liked Marroc's all-seeing, yet lifeless eyes, as he had passed them by on the stairs of the Brandy Hall earlier. If he tried something unpleasant, Frodo wouldn't have any qualms to use all measures necessary to lock him up again.
He let out a puff of smoke and leaned his forehead against the cold windowpane. Marroc had never done him any wrong besides the flying rock to his head in his bout of insanity, but the mere sight of him still made his blood boil. When Frodo looked at him, he saw not the old and emaciated man he'd become, but the memory of a summer day when the hood had slid off Allie's head to reveal patches of green and yellow on her usually smooth skin. He saw the way it covered half of her face, from her eye to her jawline. He saw his foolish young self asking Allie if she'd gotten that bruise from falling off a tree.
Frodo had managed to conjure up enough mercy for Gollum, yet couldn't find it in his heart to feel a similar inclination toward Marroc.
The door to the common room creaked open, startling Frodo out of his brooding thoughts. Marigold poked her head in, holding a small candle that created a half circle of light in front of her feet. "There you are, Frodo. What are you doing here by yourself? Sam and the others are looking for you."
Frodo tipped his pipe in her direction. "I will be just a moment."
Brandy Hall had two common rooms; the main one, also serving as the dining hall, big enough to accommodate twenty hobbit families, and this secondary one for hosting minor events. Saradoc usually reserved it for his close friends. A set of comfortable couches sat in a half circle in front of the fireplace, where folk could smoke pipe-weed and discuss the state of affairs in Buckland. Frodo had sought the quiet of this room to spend some alone time with his thoughts. A wave of transient frustration mounted at being disturbed, but he quenched it down. He owed her some of his time after the pain he'd put her through.
Marigold threw him an uncertain look and approached on quiet feet. The light of her candle cast a warm glow upon her small face. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail and wore a light blue blouse tucked into brown trousers. Frodo had never seen her in such attire. Even when she worked in the fields, she favored a long skirt instead of trousers. In fact, he had never seen any woman other than Allie ever wear trousers in the Shire.
"Frodo, I'm sorry again for lighting up that fire when I came to visit last time. I didn't know about your condition."
"No harm done." In fact, lately his condition had seen some improvement. He could be close to the hearth, provided that the chimney was working properly to conduit the smoke outside.
Marigold pointed to the pipe between his fingers. "Is pipe-weed fine?"
"It seems like it." Frodo had been happily surprised upon discovering that pipe weed did not trigger any episodes. The worst type of smoke was that from burned wood.
Marigold took one step closer. "I'm glad. The harvest from my pipe-weed plantation has been especially good this year. I will send Sam over with some fresh leaves the next time he visits Bag End."
Frodo nodded his thanks. "The day you came by Bag End, you meant to talk to me, didn't you?"
Marigold took another eager step forward and put her light down on the windowsill between them. "Yes, firstly to apologize for acting out on the carriage. I don't know what possessed me then." She shook her head. "I wasn't expecting such news. I suppose… no, I have no excuses for the way I acted and the words I said." She laced her fingers together. "After three years spent together, I should have listened to you more calmly."
Frodo slowly let out another exhale of smoke and filled his vision with the sight of grey flakes blowing past the window. "It was my fault, too. I should have broken the news to you more privately." He looked outside with a small sigh, his gaze sad. "I should have never misled you in the first place when you first confessed your feelings for me..."
"No, never say that you misled me, Frodo." Marigold bit her lip. "I've always known, to a certain degree, but I still wanted to be with you. I…" She swallowed audibly, and continued in a fragile voice. "I loved you. I still do."
Frodo shifted his gaze back to her doll face, now flushed red with embarrassment. Yet, her hazel eyes brimmed with a fiery determination. He thought back to all the moments they had shared, but those memories belonged to a different Frodo, someone who had never been scarred by war, had not been crushed by the guilt of taking lives, had not had his soul overtaken by dark spells. The Quest had taken everything from him, and in his last moments, he had barely hesitated before taking that jump off the cliff. He may have survived it all, but even without Allie in the picture, he doubted this new Frodo would have been able to give Marigold what she wanted or needed as a lover.
Occasionally, the fear gripped him that he wouldn't be able to give his all to Allie, either. What if the shadow he brought back from the War grew even bigger? Sam had already openly expressed his worry concerning his episodes. Merry and Berilac never said it aloud, but they always gazed at him before lighting up the hearth, as though asking for permission. And Allie… she should be enjoying her life with him, yet lately she always seemed forced to clean up after him. Whenever he apologized, she just told him he was being a silly rascal for worrying about it. The war hadn't changed her as much as it did him, because for better or for worse, her life had already been a series of torments before the War of the Ring even began. Her battlefield had started as early as her father's abuse. Frodo wanted to give her the world, for she deserved no less, but had the sinking suspicion that instead of giving, he'd only be taking from her, more and more. And Allie being Allie, she would give it all to him when she didn't even have that much time left.
"Frodo?" Marigold asked in a small voice.
Frodo rose haunted eyes toward her. "What do you even love about me? I betrayed your trust."
His question took her aback. "Why… everything, of course. You are smart, gentle and nice to everyone around you. That's enough, isn't it?"
"Except I'm not that person anymore."
"What do you mean?"
The snowstorm continued raging outside, the world but a blur of white and grey. Even the trees closest to the yard had become swaying phantoms in the blizzard.
Frodo rolled down his bandages and showed Marigold his blackened hand for the first time, watching as her eyes widened in dismay at the sight of it.
"W-what happened to your hand?"
The light from the small candle cast dancing shadows on the dark skin, a sight almost hypnotizing. Frodo put down his pipe on the windowsill. It tilted askew and cinders spilled out onto the neat wood, but his gaze never left his blackened hand. "Sometimes, I feel there is poison running through my blood now. I have killed people in the war." He spread out his fingers. "With this very hand of mine, I ended their lives. After making sure they had truly died, I moved on to the next person. I did feel guilt and horror afterward, of course, but dead people have no need for guilt nor repentance, do they?" He walked away from the windowsill into the shadows of the common room. "Did I truly used to be nice to everyone? I can't remember. All I know is that, before you walked in just now, I was wondering how it would feel to punch Allie's father in the face, maybe break a tooth or two, so that he gets a taste of spending a few days with a cheek so swollen he can barely chew." He turned around toward Marigold's horrified expression and let out a humorless chuckle. "Half the time, those are the thoughts running through my head. Can you still love me now?"
Marigold's features were pulled so tight her skin might rip. "I… I… I know you went through horrors I cannot imagine, Frodo. In time, you will find yourself again, and I will be here for you…"
"… what about now? I don't know if I will ever find myself again, so can you make do with what I am now?"
Frodo didn't know why he was being hard on her, but still he awaited her response. He could no longer be the proper and always optimistic hobbit she used to bring home to her old Gaffer for dinner, where they would exchange pleasantries about the weather and the slow growth of vegetables.
Marigold clenched her fists, opened her mouth, closed it again and looked away.
Frodo gave her shoulder a squeeze, letting out a sad smile when he felt her tense under his touch. "Don't worry, Marigold. I wouldn't want to impose all that on you, either. Thank you for the times we've spent before I left."
Marigold turned away and covered her eyes, but not before two wet streams flowed down her cheeks.
The door to the common room creaked open for the second time, and Merry poked his head in. "Frodo, there you are." His gaze slid over to Marigold's turned back. "Uh, is this a bad time?"
"What is it?" Frodo asked instead.
"Allie's back. She's gone back to your room."
Frodo's dark thoughts took a small step back. He threw a last, almost apologetic, glance back at Marigold and followed Merry out.
"Should I send Sam to her?" Merry asked while they walked away.
Merry knew their situation too well. "I'd appreciate it," he told his friend with a pinch of guilt. What had possessed him to speak of such things to Marigold?
Merry gave him an energetic slap in the back. "Cheer up, Frodo. Allie looked happy. Whatever happened with her father seemed to have gone well. I tried to dig for details, but she was freezing cold and went to change first."
Frodo acknowledged Merry's words with a pat on the back, and they parted ways at the next intersection. Heading toward the room he shared with Allie, he wondered once more why he had subjected Marigold to such dark words, words he hadn't yet shared with even his closest friends. He wiped his eyes wearily. Perhaps it had been easier to confess to someone who knew him less well, rather than to Sam or Allie.
He stopped in front of the grey door leading to their room. Merry had allocated them one of the best guest rooms in Brandy Hall. It had a nice king-sized bed with soft duvet sheets, a sturdy desk, and its own private fireplace, which they had used a few times with very little ill effect to Frodo.
Frodo opened the door to warm air and the merry crackling of burning logs. Allie had lit a small fire in the hearth, as well as a few candles on the table to light up the room. With winter's coming, the days had grown shorter and darker, which required the use of candles as early as mid-afternoon.
Allie sat on their bed, dressed in one of his long blue shirts that descended to her thighs. He was once again reminded that she needed more of her own clothes, though he did derive immeasurable pleasure seeing her in his.
Allie looked up from drying her hair with a towel when he shut the door behind him. Her smile lit up the room more surely than any number of candles could do. "Quite a storm out there. I hope you don't mind that I stole one of your shirts. It was lying on the bed, and I was too cold to look for another one."
Allie wrapped her hair in the towel, revealing the white scar on her neck. "I have officially settled things with my father. At least for now." She dried her hair furiously with the towel, never losing the merry glint in her eyes. "I may or may not have lied about my pack still being alive and roaming about the Shire, just waiting for him to mess up to make a complete meal out of him. The look he got on his face then…" she chuckled. "I've never seen him so scared, so I think he will behave himself and not cause…"
She stopped drying her hair when Frodo wrapped both arms around her from behind. "… anymore trouble," she finished softly.
Frodo pressed his warm lips against the chill skin of her bare shoulder. "I'm thrilled for you, Allie," he whispered, lacing his arms together to tighten the embrace.
Allie slowly lowered the towel from her still damp hair and rested a hand on his arm. For long moments, neither of them said anything, and only the logs setting and cracking in the hearth disrupted the quiet of the cozy room.
Allie brought his right hand to her lips and kissed the blackened skin of his knuckles. "It's rare to see you without the bandages. I like this much better."
Frodo loosened his arms for her to face him. "I can't say the same," he admitted.
"At least it served its purpose in scaring away Lobelia." Allie's smile waned when Frodo did not echo it. She leaned in and pressed a gentle finger against his temple. "What are you thinking so hard about, Frodo?"
"Just some things."
Allie pressed her forehead against his. "What things?" she whispered against his lips.
Frodo pecked her on the mouth before turning away. "Silly things. Nothing to worry about. Come, get changed so we can join the others in the hall."
Allie lay back on the bed with a hand under her head and her damp hair rippling down her shoulder. Her grey eyes considered him with an intensity that pierced through him like sunlight through a keyhole. "It's not silly if it bothers you."
"Who says I'm bothered?"
"Your face says so quite loudly."
Frodo turned his face away. "I don't want to speak about it." He was angry with himself now. Why did he have to act strange when today should be about Allie? She had finally settled the matter with her father, and she had been so happy and relieved about it, until he came in put a damper on the mood because no matter what mask he wore, Allie saw right through it in two seconds flat. He stood from the bed. "Merry said there will be a celebratory dinner at the hall later this evening."
"I'm not celebrating anything until you tell me what's bothering you," she said calmly, not moving an inch from the bed. "I'm not celebrating anything if you are not in the mood for it."
Frodo faced her sharply. "This. This is precisely what is bothering me. Why are you letting everything revolve around my mood? Why are you letting me ruin the occasion like this? You should place your happiness first, especially on a day like today."
Allie sat upright with a frown. "Do you really think I can celebrate anything when you look so agitated? Did something happen while I was away?"
"I already said I don't wish to talk about it right this second. Can't you pretend for once to look the other way?" Frodo said, his voice rising.
"No, I can't pretend to look the other way when it is about you!" Allie rose to her feet, and her voice rose along with her stance. "Like you said, you are ruining the moment! And I'm tempted to walk right out and leave you to sulk it out here alone while I go enjoy some excellent food and banter with our friends!"
Frodo pointed to the door. "Do it, then! I told you not to let me hold you back!"
Allie squeezed the pillow in between her hands with flushed cheeks and then threw it at him. Frodo ducked, and it hit the door with a 'thump' before sliding down to the ground.
"But I can't!" Allie screamed. "I'm not moving an inch until you tell me what on earth is your problem, so you better start talking."
Frodo kicked the pillow away and threw the door open. "Just go enjoy your moment, Allie! Why can't you do that?"
Allie stomped to the open door and pushed it shut again with steel shooting out of her eyes. "I can't, because I love your stubborn, infuriating and irritating self too much. How can I think of celebrating when you look two seconds away from crying? Just spit it out, whatever it is! I hate it when you keep difficult things to yourself. You have done enough of that since we came back to the Shire! I haven't even seen you grieving properly for Pippin because you were too busy taking care of me. Pippin was your friend, too. I'm sure you were just as hurt about his passing as I was. So, stop being annoying for once and tell me what's on your mind, or I swear I'm punching you." She stopped, gasping for breath, her fist drawn and ready for the promised punch.
Frodo gawked at her flushed face and wide stance, the shirt too big for her falling off one naked shoulder, her hair standing in a wild halo around her face as though powered up by the extent of her frustration. He couldn't help it then. He cracked a small smile.
Allie frowned. "Oh, this is funny to you, isn't it? You don't think I'm serious?"
Frodo trapped her raised fist in his hand while his smile became a chuckle, and then that morphed into a laugh. Soon, he was laughing so hard that he was crying. And then he was just crying.
He hadn't been aware of how much pent-up pain he'd gathered in his heart in the aftermath of Pippin's death until Allie had exposed it to the light. He cried over the loss of his friends and the loss of his innocence after the war. When his grief cleared and he regained some awareness of his surroundings, he realized he'd slid to the ground with his back to the door and his face against Allie's chest. His tears had left damp traces all over the front of her shirt.
Allie had her arms around his shoulders and she patted his back in soft and rhythmic taps. Her touch gradually eased the hitching in his breath and provided a comfort so deep he almost found himself dozing off for a second or two.
When Allie loosened her grip, he blinked some heaviness out of his eyes and pulled away to wipe his face on his sleeve. "If I tell you what was on my mind, you will punch me for real," he said into his arm.
"Try me," Allie said. From the sound of her voice, he knew she had been crying too.
"I don't feel the same since Mount Doom, Allie. You must have felt it, too. I know it is absurd, but some days I can't help thinking that I'm just taking advantage of your love to fill the void lurking inside of me."
"Take it all. I don't mind."
Frodo peered at her soft face and moist eyes. "But I do. You may be fine with it now, but one day you may grow tired of it."
Allie let go of his hand and punched him square in the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince. "You are right. That deserved a punch."
Massaging the sore spot, he said, "Nonetheless, it is true."
"No, it's not true, and it won't ever be true." Allie let out a small a sigh. "Don't you see? You can take all of me, because you already gave me all of you." She tapped a hand against her beating heart. "The quest has taken much from you, but not all of you, because I have the best of you right in here." She tapped her hand against her beating heart. "Today, I realized what a precious gift you've given me, something even more comforting than running drenched from a summer storm."
Frodo just stared at her smiling face, stunned by her words.
Allie cupped his bewildered face in her hands. "I set myself free from my father, not because of the threats I gave him. No, I set my heart free of him by telling him I forgive him. And I meant the words, genuinely, from the bottom of my heart. When I told him that…" she shrugged, her eyes teary. "… I felt clean. Cleaner than when I ran up the hill as a kid and let the rain wash away all traces of my father's abuse."
Her hands were warm on his face when she pulled him for a grateful kiss. "You were the one who taught me about mercy and forgiveness. Even amid danger, with our lives at stake, you showed mercy to a wretched creature. The results of such an act don't matter as much as what was then in your heart. I, who only knew how to fight and hold grudges, could also find it in myself to choose a different path." She let out a self-deprecating smile. "One thing I've learned during the War was that revenge never turns out as liberating as I always thought it to be. That was especially true after I killed the Mouth of Sauron. It left me empty, and whatever pain he'd caused us never faded like I thought it would. Still, I once considered putting an end to my father, because I couldn't see any other choice if I wanted him out of our lives. Then, I remembered what you've told me, that there are always other ways than violence."
Frodo stayed still, too moved to say anything. She had managed to forgive the person who'd caused her the most pain, and for that he was so incredibly proud of her.
"You've always guided me on the right path, Frodo, even when you weren't aware of it. I've always held a touch of darkness in me, but you've always been my light. I could have easily gone down the wrong path in life if you hadn't been there for me since the start. For that alone, I love you more than anything."
Her silver gaze mesmerized Frodo and made darkness recede from his own heart. Perhaps there was hope for him yet to conquer whatever demons the war and the Ring had left within him.
Allie craned his neck and leaned in close. "If my existence makes you happy, then use me as much as you want," she whispered against his mouth.
Frodo didn't make her say it twice. He pulled her close and kissed her she way she deserved to be kissed for making him feel safe in their love in a way he'd never known before. Seasons may change; people may come and go; life birthed and then wilted, and yet he had the absurd certainty that Allie's love for him would endure, and so would be his for her. That part of them would never change, even after she became a wolf and their time together ended.
But he didn't want about to think of any partings right now. He picked Allie off the floor and carried her to their bed, where he gently laid her down. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he slid his hands over the length of her body, his fingertips moving from smooth skins to the rougher patches of her scars. He took his time, wanting to savour every moment of getting lost in every aspect of her.
Allie arched her head back when he grazed her neck and throat with his mouth. They made their love last, never taking their eyes off each other. Frodo smiled when she gazed up at him with those clear grey eyes of hers that were like windows to her very soul. Her body may not be that of a wolf anymore, but her eyes had kept their silver edge, especially in times of extreme emotion.
Frodo shuddered against her warm body, much of his previous doubts already shattered. She had done nothing more than tell him how much of a positive influence he'd been for her, and that had been enough to heal part of his own pain. Allie was the only person who could make him so angry, so sad, so loved and so safe within the same half hour. Filling to the brim with the scent of her and the sensation of her comforting limbs all around him, he hugged her tight to his heart until their heated bodies fused like one. The fire crackled loudly beside them, burning with the same intensity as the one igniting in his very core.
Frodo looked into the fire, losing himself in the red and orange flames. Suddenly, the source of his illness became strikingly clear. He paused in the midst of love-making and sucked in a ragged breath next to Allie's shoulder. The shadow in the flames that made him so sick was but his fear that he might turn into a coward, one who could end his own life once he lost his reason for living. He'd already gave it up once upon Mount Doom, so what was to say he wouldn't do it again? After all, the thought of living on without Allie was even more terrifying than trekking into Mordor.
Frodo stared hard at the shadow wearing his face, smiling back at him from the hearth beside the bed. However, because he now knew what that shadow was made of, he did not succumb to its terror like the previous times. Once he'd looked that shadow in the eye, it no longer held the power to destroy him.
Allie brushed her fingers through his sweat-soaked curls. "Are you all alright?" she whispered in his ear.
Frodo stared into her worried eyes and stroked her cheek. "Yes, everything is fine." When he looked back into the hearth, the shadow in the fire had disappeared. At least for today.
Allie caught him staring at the dying hearth, and she brought his face back until he focused on her once more. "I love you," she said with a tender kiss to his lips.
Frodo laid down beside her and pulled her in closer beneath the covers. "I love you, too. I'm sorry for not telling you what was on my mind." Without even knowing he was going to, he added, "There is something else I need to tell you."
She must have caught the serious look on his face, for she laced her fingers in his. "What is it?"
"You've always been a survivor, Allie, but I'm afraid I'm not. I might seem a hero in your eyes, in many people's eyes, because I got rid of the Ring." Frodo held his breath for a second. He was standing in front of ice cold water. Would he really survive the plunge? He closed his eyes and finished, "I did drop the Ring, but I did so by choosing to forfeit my own life."
The topic of Mount Doom, which he could never talk about, now finally out in the open. He didn't know whether he should be relieved or afraid.
Allie stayed silent beside him, but her grip around his hand had tightened to a painful squeeze.
"By luck or providence, Sam was there to hold me back, and somehow I let go of that damn Ring. Still, it doesn't change the fact that when I thought you'd died, I didn't see the point of living on. The despair I felt on that cliff, I always thought it was because of the Ring, but in retrospect, losing you played a much bigger part in it." Frodo brushed his thumb against her trembling cheek. "For twenty years, I could live on, because I knew you were out there somewhere, perhaps gazing at the same moon as I was, perhaps connected through our thoughts in that moment. But soon, the day will come when you won't be anywhere in this world, and the thought of it terrifies me, like looking down at a dark precipice from a thin bridge…"
Frodo fell silent when Allie pulled his head close and hugged him so tight to her chest he couldn't breathe for a second or two. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into her embrace, while her fingers brushed through his hair and gently combed them back.
"I wish I could promise you I would still be me in that wolf's body, but I can't, not after seeing what happened with Pippin," she whispered against him in a thick voice. "I'm so sorry to leave you alone, my love."
Frodo wiped them away with a shake of his head. "I'm not sharing this with you to make you worried, though I'm afraid I've done just that. After today, I do feel somewhat different. You did your best to find it in yourself to be forgiving, even toward someone as wicked as your father. Your strength makes me want to overcome my own shortcomings and fears. I, too, have been given a second chance, and I shouldn't let it go to waste. I'm still scared to face life without you, but day by day, I feel more certain that I won't choose the cowardly way out. So, don't worry, Allie."
Allie swallowed back her tears. "That's right, you little rascal," she said in a hoarse voice. "You should cherish this life you've fought so hard for. If you ever think of dying after I'm gone, I'll come back and haunt you, or bite your arm off as a wolf. You better be prepared for the consequences."
Frodo let out a small chuckle and pressed his forehead briefly against hers. "That wouldn't be so bad, actually."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. You think I wouldn't welcome your ghost with open arms?"
Allie gave a sad chuckle. "Thank you for telling me. It must have been difficult."
A log settled in the fire, and the dancing flame cast a soft glow upon her still damp hair. Today the words had come naturally to him. It had felt good to let the load off his shoulders. He could tell she must have guessed most of it by now, for she had been sad, but not overly surprised.
A faraway glint came into her grey eyes, and she turned to lie on her back with an arm over her forehead. "While we are on confessions, there has been something on my mind, too."
Frodo just looked over at him, waiting for her to continue.
Allie scooted up into a sitting position with a small sigh. She pressed her back to the headboard and hugged her knees to her chest. "It's just… oh, never mind, it's just too silly compared to what you've just told me. You will only laugh at me."
Frodo sat up beside her. "I will not laugh at you. I promise."
Allie pouted. "Yes, you will."
"When have I laughed at you when I'd promised not to do it?"
"Only every single time? The last time being…"
"Allie, don't sidetrack the conversation. You were the one who brought it up."
Allie pinched her lips together at the truth of those words. "It's just something Marigold said the other day."
Frodo frowned. "Marigold?" He suddenly remembered Allie leaving in a hurry when Sam and Marigold helped them with the house. He twiddled the sheets in between his fingers. "What did she say?"
"I know you have already spoken to me about your relationship with her, but throughout the whole Quest, I never once put much thought to it, since there were more pressing matters such as, well, staying alive. It's only after coming back to the Shire and seeing Marigold again that it truly hit me you have spent three years together as a couple. And… in those three years, it's only normal that you've held hands, and kissed, and…" She paused and sighed. "I suppose I was just jealous for a moment." Allie hit her face behind the covers. "I told you it was silly. Why did you make me say it?"
Frodo had never seen her so shy. Allie was usually the type to go straight for what she wanted. It was the first time he heard her speak of being jealous, and it was utterly endearing. Biting back a smile, he gently tugged on the sheet until her embarrassed face reappeared. He messed up her already wild hair and leaned in close. "That may be true, and we did all that, but does it make you feel better if I tell you I haven't truly kissed until I kissed you?"
Allie crossed her arms over her knees, hiding the lower half of her face. Only her penetrating eyes peeked at him uncertainly from above her arms. "Does that also hold true for your first time?"
Frodo blinked. "First time what?"
Allie curled her fingers around her knees. "First time being intimate."
An image of Allie lying naked on the sheepskins in that cabin in Rohan burst through his mind. How her gaze burned with desire as she looked straight through him made spots of color appear on his cheeks. He scratched his neck. "Yes, I suppose that night left an impression. We were on the brink of war with no guarantee of survival, so I supposed it happened on the spur of the moment. I hope you didn't..."
Allie straightened up abruptly. "What are you talking about?"
Frodo stared back, his face a mask of embarrassed confusion. "You are asking about our first time together, aren't you?"
"No, I'm asking about your first time, Frodo."
Frodo scratched the back of his head with an deepening blush. "Well, that was my first time."
"It was with me?" she asked with round eyes.
"Why are you so surprised? Wasn't yours with me, too?"
Allie stared at him as though he'd just told her rabbits could fly. "Mine, yes. But it can't be yours! I mean, surely… with Marigold…"
Frodo couldn't help but to break his promise; he burst out laughing. He ducked just in time to avoid the pillow that Allie sent flying toward his head. "Allie, Allie," he said, grabbing hold of both of her hands, which she had lifted to hit his chest with. "Where did you get the idea that I had been intimate with Marigold?"
"She told me!" Allie exclaimed. "Well, not in so many words, but she strongly inferred it."
"What did she say, exactly?"
"She said you shared a bed together!"
Frodo pondered over it for a while. "Oh, that must have been the time when Sam, Marigold and I journeyed to the Southfarthing to investigate the land she intended to purchase. We slept at an inn. There was only one vacancy, so the three of us shared a bed."
"The three…" Allie threw her head back and laughed so hard she would have fallen back had Frodo not restrained her by the hands.
"Satisfied now?" Frodo asked, shaking his head in amusement.
Allie bounced back, all business again, and grey eyes narrowed. "Are you sure? From the way she said it…"
"Allie, I swear to you, for all the love I bear you, that you were my first."
"Still, how can it be? After three years of dating… not even once?"
Frodo scratched his head, realizing Allie must not know about all the Shire customs, especially not the ones that revolved around marriage. "It is only customary for a couple to share a bed after they have wed. What we did is not considered proper etiquette at all."
Allie's jaw hung open. "But… we have done it so many times."
Frodo winked. "And no one knows about any of those times, as far as I know."
"No! Are you saying that you never told Sam and Merry?!"
"Of course not, especially not Sam. He's quite adamant about traditions. The poor lad will be in shock."
Allie stared at him in pure dismay. "It's a good thing you've told me, or else I could have easily blabbered it out by mistake at some gathering."
"Satisfied now?" Frodo asked.
Allie rested her head against his shoulder without answering. Frodo gave her naked back a comforting rub. For some reason, Allie being jealous had made him extremely happy.
"Shall we go to dinner? The others must be waiting," Frodo said.
Allie blinked as though she'd forgotten all about that. She propped herself up with a small seductive smile on the corner of her lips and leaned in to gently bite his earlobe, causing a shiver to travel down his spine. "We should finish what we started first," she whispered to him. "The others can wait a bit more."
Frodo didn't make her say it twice.
Can't believe it's been a year since I last updated this. It's been a rollercoaster of a year for everyone. I just hope you're all safe and in good health.
I want to personally thank Daughter of the Oceans, PrettyRecklessLaura, Aria Breuer, Girl on Fire 111 and creamjam for reviewing the last chapter. Hope you are all well. It's ok if you have forgotten about the story though, can't blame you, since I seem to be the slowest writer in existence.
If you are still reading, welcome back :)
If not, hope you've moved on to fruitful endeavours (even though you won't get to read this lol).
My goal is to finish the story this year. There are only about 4-5 chapters left.
All the best to everyone,
- burningSunset
