For the first time since coming to Valinor, Frodo Baggins couldn't sleep.
He lay gazing up at the ceiling of his room, listening half-heartedly to the night silence which wasn't really silence at all, filled with the drone of insects and the rustle of the breeze and the ever-present sound of the waves crashing upon the shore. Usually, the familiar sounds soothed him, carried him into restful and rejuvenating slumber; now, however, they only fueled his unease.
With a sigh he pushed back his blankets and stood, stretching; this was doing him no good, there was no way he could sleep, worked up as he was. Worked up over what, he hadn't a clue. Deciding a walk might be the best course of action to clear his mind, he made his way to the bureau that stood across the room, picking up his elven-cloak and casting it about his shoulders. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror standing over the oak drawers and had to shake his head. Never mind he'd been here-was it sixty years, now?-it never failed to amaze him when he saw his reflection. He was one hundred and thirteen-an amazing thing no matter how one looked at it-and yet he looked not a day over thirty. During the journey across the sea he'd noticed it, though it wasn't until he'd left the rocking of the ship and walked on solid ground again that he realized exactly how *much* he'd changed. And now.now, he was strong, and healthy, and *healed*, enjoying the company of Bilbo and Gandalf and all the elves, as happy as a when he was a mere tweenager, traipsing about the Shire without a care in the world.
*Well, almost as happy.*
With a small sigh he turned from the mirror. It would do no good to dwell on.things he couldn't change. Shoving the thoughts-and images-that had started to rise unbidden to his mind, he hurried across the room and stepped quickly into the moonlit night.
The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Taking a deep breath and smiling as the ocean breeze wound it's way into his dark curls, Frodo began to walk, enjoying the feel of the cool green grass under his toes. He soon found himself following the sounds of the ocean, walking until grass turned to sand and he could see the dark waves crashing upon the shore. He walked towards them until the sand began to give under his weight and the waves curled around his feet, then stopped, gazing out at the dark sea and wondering why he'd felt so compelled to come here.
"Frodo?"
He jumped, startled from his reverie. Turning quickly, he relaxed when he recognized the tall figure approaching him. "Good evening, Gandalf," he said, smiling at his old friend.
The wizard returned the smile, quirking an eyebrow at Frodo's words. "Evening? Much closer to morning than evening, I'd say," he commented lightly, walking over to stand beside the small figure. "And what may I ask is a hobbit doing out of bed at this hour of the night?"
"Never mind that you're here, too," Frodo pointed out, raising an eyebrow in return.
Gandalf gazed at him, not to be diverted. "What is it, Frodo?" he asked quietly. "You wouldn't come out here for no reason, not at this hour. Something troubles you."
Frodo sighed. Leave it to Gandalf to know when there was something wrong.
"I don't know," he said softly. "I just.I couldn't sleep."
Gandalf looked at him for a moment, then looked out towards the sea. After a few moments of silence, he said, quite casually, "The last elven-ship departs from the havens in a few days."
Frodo looked up at him, wondering if the comment was supposed to be directed at him or if the wizard was talking to himself.
But Gandalf said no more, only stood, silent and brooding, gazing towards the barely distinguishable horizon. Frodo frowned, considering, turning his gaze eastward as well.
*The last ship.*
Suddenly, and quite clearly, he knew what was troubling him. The last ship was coming. The last ship. That meant it was the last chance for.
"You should try and get some rest, Frodo," Gandalf said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned as though to walk away, but before he did, he let one hand rest briefly on Frodo's shoulder. "Don't worry. Everything will turn out fine." Giving Frodo's shoulder a squeeze, he straightened and walked away.
Frodo watched him go, amazed at how he seemed to always know exactly what was on Frodo's mind, often better than the hobbit knew himself.
The last ship.the last chance for Sam to cross the sea.
Frodo bowed his head and closed his eyes, but to no avail; the tears burned hotly beneath his lids. It seemed that happened every time he thought of his friend. His heart tightened almost imperceptibly in his chest; for all these years, he'd been trying to build himself up for disappointment. He simply couldn't bear to let his hopes get up-what if Sam never came? And yet every time a ship came in to port, he'd be there, eagerly-nay, desperately searching for some sign of the dear face that haunted his dreams.but it always to no avail. The years were wearing on, and every time he was left standing alone on the docks, another elven-ship floating empty on the silver waves, his heart and hope crumbled a little bit more.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a single tear sliding unnoticed down his cheek.
He supposed he also had to consider the possibility that Sam had already died. If he were still alive, he would be nearly a hundred and one, after all.Frodo had to smile at the thought. Had it really been so long? What did Sam look like, after years under Rosie's care? The image of an old, plump, happy Sam Gamgee entered his mind, and even through his tears Frodo had to laugh.
"What's so funny?" a voice from behind him inquired.
Frodo turned and saw Bilbo approaching him. "Gandalf said you needed some convincing to get back inside and get some rest, so he sent me," the hobbit explained. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Ignoring the fact that I was already asleep, and rather enjoying the rest at that. I'm nearly two hundred years old, after all!"
Frodo laughed again. For all his jest, he knew that Bilbo didn't mind coming out here to speak with him. And if he needed rest, it wasn't because he was old, though it had become a favorite excuse of his. The years had done the same thing to Bilbo as they'd done to Frodo, and returned him to youth and health. Frodo'd had to grow used to this new, young version of his uncle; after all, Bilbo had been ninety-nine when he'd first adopted Frodo.
Bilbo smiled, then grew serious. "So what's troubling you, my boy?"
Frodo sighed, and looked down at his feet. "The last Elven ship is coming soon," he said quietly.
Bilbo was silent for a moment, and Frodo wondered if the other hobbit understood what he meant. But after a moment Bilbo spoke again.
"You're worried about Sam?"
Hearing his friend's name spoken aloud after so many years brought fresh tears to Frodo's eyes. Bilbo stepped closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, then sat down, drawing Frodo with him. Pulling the younger hobbit into his arms and resting his head on his shoulder, Bilbo rocked slightly as Frodo cried.
"There, there, Frodo," the older hobbit murmured softly. "Don't take on so. Sam'll come. Don't worry."
"But Bilbo," Frodo sniffed after a moment, "what if he doesn't? What if he forgot about me?" He paused, then, eyes wide with anxiety, he whispered, "What if he already died, Bilbo?"
Bilbo sighed, then pulled away so he could look at his cousin's tear- streaked face. After a moment's consideration, he reached out and placed one hand on Frodo's chest, over his heart.
"What do you feel, here?" he asked quietly. "Do you think he's already died?"
Frodo hesitated, then shook his head slowly.
"Do you honestly think that Samwise Gamgee would ever *forget* you? His master, his best friend, whom he followed to death's doorstep and back again; for whom he gladly risked life and limb on countless occasions?"
Frodo had to smile through his tears. This time he shook his head without hesitation. "No," he whispered, "I suppose not."
Bilbo smiled, then leaned in close and whispered, "And do you honestly think that, after all he did for you, he'd disappoint you now?"
Frodo sighed, tears still streaming down his face, but he was smiling. After a moment he leaned against Bilbo again, resting his head on the older hobbit's shoulder as he gazed out at the crashing waves.
"You know, I never told him how much he meant to me," he whispered after a moment of silence. "He was forever telling me, but.the words didn't come so easily to me as they did to him."
"He knew, Frodo." Bilbo said quietly. "He knew." He reached out and wrapped his arm around Frodo's shoulder, and for a long time they sat like that, staring out over the ocean.
When the moon was high in the sky, Bilbo finally pulled away.
"Well, Frodo, my lad," he said, stretching exaggeratedly, "I really must get back to my bed before sleep takes me where I sit."
Frodo laughed, and nodded. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. "You really ought to get some sleep, too, you know," he said.
Frodo nodded again. "I'll be inside in a few minutes, don't worry," he said.
Bilbo nodded, satisfied, and turned to walk away.
Frodo took a breath. "Bilbo?"
The older hobbit turned. "Yes?"
Frodo studied him for a long moment, then gave him a shaky smile. "Thanks," he said softly.
Bilbo smiled back, and nodded once. He then turned and began walking back into the forest towards the elf-settlement.
Frodo stayed on the beach, his arms wrapped around his knees as he gazed out over the water, for several more minutes. Finally, shaking himself out of his reverie, he stood, brushed the sand from his trousers, and walked back towards his room.
When he reached it, he found to his surprise he was quite exhausted. Unclasping his cloak and casting it carelessly across his bureau, he fell face-first onto his bed without even bothering to turn back the covers, and even with all that was on his mind, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows.
* * *
He lay gazing up at the ceiling of his room, listening half-heartedly to the night silence which wasn't really silence at all, filled with the drone of insects and the rustle of the breeze and the ever-present sound of the waves crashing upon the shore. Usually, the familiar sounds soothed him, carried him into restful and rejuvenating slumber; now, however, they only fueled his unease.
With a sigh he pushed back his blankets and stood, stretching; this was doing him no good, there was no way he could sleep, worked up as he was. Worked up over what, he hadn't a clue. Deciding a walk might be the best course of action to clear his mind, he made his way to the bureau that stood across the room, picking up his elven-cloak and casting it about his shoulders. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror standing over the oak drawers and had to shake his head. Never mind he'd been here-was it sixty years, now?-it never failed to amaze him when he saw his reflection. He was one hundred and thirteen-an amazing thing no matter how one looked at it-and yet he looked not a day over thirty. During the journey across the sea he'd noticed it, though it wasn't until he'd left the rocking of the ship and walked on solid ground again that he realized exactly how *much* he'd changed. And now.now, he was strong, and healthy, and *healed*, enjoying the company of Bilbo and Gandalf and all the elves, as happy as a when he was a mere tweenager, traipsing about the Shire without a care in the world.
*Well, almost as happy.*
With a small sigh he turned from the mirror. It would do no good to dwell on.things he couldn't change. Shoving the thoughts-and images-that had started to rise unbidden to his mind, he hurried across the room and stepped quickly into the moonlit night.
The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Taking a deep breath and smiling as the ocean breeze wound it's way into his dark curls, Frodo began to walk, enjoying the feel of the cool green grass under his toes. He soon found himself following the sounds of the ocean, walking until grass turned to sand and he could see the dark waves crashing upon the shore. He walked towards them until the sand began to give under his weight and the waves curled around his feet, then stopped, gazing out at the dark sea and wondering why he'd felt so compelled to come here.
"Frodo?"
He jumped, startled from his reverie. Turning quickly, he relaxed when he recognized the tall figure approaching him. "Good evening, Gandalf," he said, smiling at his old friend.
The wizard returned the smile, quirking an eyebrow at Frodo's words. "Evening? Much closer to morning than evening, I'd say," he commented lightly, walking over to stand beside the small figure. "And what may I ask is a hobbit doing out of bed at this hour of the night?"
"Never mind that you're here, too," Frodo pointed out, raising an eyebrow in return.
Gandalf gazed at him, not to be diverted. "What is it, Frodo?" he asked quietly. "You wouldn't come out here for no reason, not at this hour. Something troubles you."
Frodo sighed. Leave it to Gandalf to know when there was something wrong.
"I don't know," he said softly. "I just.I couldn't sleep."
Gandalf looked at him for a moment, then looked out towards the sea. After a few moments of silence, he said, quite casually, "The last elven-ship departs from the havens in a few days."
Frodo looked up at him, wondering if the comment was supposed to be directed at him or if the wizard was talking to himself.
But Gandalf said no more, only stood, silent and brooding, gazing towards the barely distinguishable horizon. Frodo frowned, considering, turning his gaze eastward as well.
*The last ship.*
Suddenly, and quite clearly, he knew what was troubling him. The last ship was coming. The last ship. That meant it was the last chance for.
"You should try and get some rest, Frodo," Gandalf said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned as though to walk away, but before he did, he let one hand rest briefly on Frodo's shoulder. "Don't worry. Everything will turn out fine." Giving Frodo's shoulder a squeeze, he straightened and walked away.
Frodo watched him go, amazed at how he seemed to always know exactly what was on Frodo's mind, often better than the hobbit knew himself.
The last ship.the last chance for Sam to cross the sea.
Frodo bowed his head and closed his eyes, but to no avail; the tears burned hotly beneath his lids. It seemed that happened every time he thought of his friend. His heart tightened almost imperceptibly in his chest; for all these years, he'd been trying to build himself up for disappointment. He simply couldn't bear to let his hopes get up-what if Sam never came? And yet every time a ship came in to port, he'd be there, eagerly-nay, desperately searching for some sign of the dear face that haunted his dreams.but it always to no avail. The years were wearing on, and every time he was left standing alone on the docks, another elven-ship floating empty on the silver waves, his heart and hope crumbled a little bit more.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a single tear sliding unnoticed down his cheek.
He supposed he also had to consider the possibility that Sam had already died. If he were still alive, he would be nearly a hundred and one, after all.Frodo had to smile at the thought. Had it really been so long? What did Sam look like, after years under Rosie's care? The image of an old, plump, happy Sam Gamgee entered his mind, and even through his tears Frodo had to laugh.
"What's so funny?" a voice from behind him inquired.
Frodo turned and saw Bilbo approaching him. "Gandalf said you needed some convincing to get back inside and get some rest, so he sent me," the hobbit explained. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Ignoring the fact that I was already asleep, and rather enjoying the rest at that. I'm nearly two hundred years old, after all!"
Frodo laughed again. For all his jest, he knew that Bilbo didn't mind coming out here to speak with him. And if he needed rest, it wasn't because he was old, though it had become a favorite excuse of his. The years had done the same thing to Bilbo as they'd done to Frodo, and returned him to youth and health. Frodo'd had to grow used to this new, young version of his uncle; after all, Bilbo had been ninety-nine when he'd first adopted Frodo.
Bilbo smiled, then grew serious. "So what's troubling you, my boy?"
Frodo sighed, and looked down at his feet. "The last Elven ship is coming soon," he said quietly.
Bilbo was silent for a moment, and Frodo wondered if the other hobbit understood what he meant. But after a moment Bilbo spoke again.
"You're worried about Sam?"
Hearing his friend's name spoken aloud after so many years brought fresh tears to Frodo's eyes. Bilbo stepped closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, then sat down, drawing Frodo with him. Pulling the younger hobbit into his arms and resting his head on his shoulder, Bilbo rocked slightly as Frodo cried.
"There, there, Frodo," the older hobbit murmured softly. "Don't take on so. Sam'll come. Don't worry."
"But Bilbo," Frodo sniffed after a moment, "what if he doesn't? What if he forgot about me?" He paused, then, eyes wide with anxiety, he whispered, "What if he already died, Bilbo?"
Bilbo sighed, then pulled away so he could look at his cousin's tear- streaked face. After a moment's consideration, he reached out and placed one hand on Frodo's chest, over his heart.
"What do you feel, here?" he asked quietly. "Do you think he's already died?"
Frodo hesitated, then shook his head slowly.
"Do you honestly think that Samwise Gamgee would ever *forget* you? His master, his best friend, whom he followed to death's doorstep and back again; for whom he gladly risked life and limb on countless occasions?"
Frodo had to smile through his tears. This time he shook his head without hesitation. "No," he whispered, "I suppose not."
Bilbo smiled, then leaned in close and whispered, "And do you honestly think that, after all he did for you, he'd disappoint you now?"
Frodo sighed, tears still streaming down his face, but he was smiling. After a moment he leaned against Bilbo again, resting his head on the older hobbit's shoulder as he gazed out at the crashing waves.
"You know, I never told him how much he meant to me," he whispered after a moment of silence. "He was forever telling me, but.the words didn't come so easily to me as they did to him."
"He knew, Frodo." Bilbo said quietly. "He knew." He reached out and wrapped his arm around Frodo's shoulder, and for a long time they sat like that, staring out over the ocean.
When the moon was high in the sky, Bilbo finally pulled away.
"Well, Frodo, my lad," he said, stretching exaggeratedly, "I really must get back to my bed before sleep takes me where I sit."
Frodo laughed, and nodded. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. "You really ought to get some sleep, too, you know," he said.
Frodo nodded again. "I'll be inside in a few minutes, don't worry," he said.
Bilbo nodded, satisfied, and turned to walk away.
Frodo took a breath. "Bilbo?"
The older hobbit turned. "Yes?"
Frodo studied him for a long moment, then gave him a shaky smile. "Thanks," he said softly.
Bilbo smiled back, and nodded once. He then turned and began walking back into the forest towards the elf-settlement.
Frodo stayed on the beach, his arms wrapped around his knees as he gazed out over the water, for several more minutes. Finally, shaking himself out of his reverie, he stood, brushed the sand from his trousers, and walked back towards his room.
When he reached it, he found to his surprise he was quite exhausted. Unclasping his cloak and casting it carelessly across his bureau, he fell face-first onto his bed without even bothering to turn back the covers, and even with all that was on his mind, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows.
* * *