Author: Trilliah
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: G
Characters: Frodo Rosie
Summary: Frodo draws strength from a friend as he tries to figure out how to tell Sam he'll be leaving Middle earth. Not a slash fic.
Feedback: Don't make me beg. Okay, fine, I'm begging. Please, please, please R/R or email me?? I love email! (Trilliah@hotmail.com, if you don't want to mess with links) ;)
Disclaimer: AHH! Don't hurt me!! I don't own them, honest, and I'm not making any money…just finding ways to fill my otherwise empty life with a little bit of harmless worship…*sweet smile*
A/n: this is not a Frodo/Rosie fic—I always wanted more to be said about the relationship between Frodo and Rosie. I, in my girlish notions of the beauty of friendship, think they would have become very close, with Rosie sort of mothering Frodo. What do you think?
* * *
Frodo Baggins sat in his study, staring at the blank sheet of parchment before him despondently. He'd been sitting like that since luncheon, quill poised over the paper as he desperately tried to think of something he could write, something he could say to try and explain…
Nothing came to him, and still he sat, unable to move until he finished this. Unable to seek rest until he found closure.
He was leaving. Soon. He'd be meeting Bilbo and Gandalf and Elrond, traveling to the havens and leaving middle earth forever.
And somehow, he was going to have to tell Sam…
At least Rosie already knew. Frodo smiled. Dear lass, she'd seen it in his eyes despite his attempts to hide it. She'd kept quiet, but one night six months ago she'd sought him out, after Sam had gone to bed, knowing Frodo wouldn't be asleep. Frodo thought back, his eyes clouding briefly as the scene played in his mind.
"Mr. Frodo?" she had whispered, knocking softly on his study door, which was standing ajar.
He'd turned around and smiled warmly at her. "Rose," he said kindly. "What can I do for you?"
She had bitten her lip, looking a bit hesitant, and Frodo stood up, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?" he asked, moving towards her. "Is the baby…?"
She smiled and placed a hand over her large baby. "No, Mr. Frodo, he's fine, and he's not coming just yet," she said, lowering her eyes and blushing slightly at her master's concern. Frodo smiled, relieved, and helped Rose to one of the seats in front of the large fireplace. A fire was burning merrily, wood crackling and filling the room with the sweet scent of pine. Sam had built it up before he'd gone to bed, and in tribute to his skill it was still going strong nearly three hours later.
Frodo sat back in his chair and gently regarded Rose, a question in his eyes. She had glanced at her feet, then the wall, then her feet again, before finally summoning the courage to meet his gaze.
Frodo had been startled to see there were tears in her large brown eyes.
"Rose?" he cried, almost getting to his feet again, but she held up a hand to stop him. Settling back halfway but unable to relax, he gazed at her concernedly. "What's wrong?"
Rose had drawn a shaky breath, then said ever so softly, "When are you going to do it?"
Frodo had been a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry?"
Rose looked away, staring into the fire. "When are you going to leave us?"
Frodo cocked his head at her. She seemed to notice and glanced back at him. "You are leaving, aren't you, Mr. Frodo." It wasn't a question.
Frodo sighed, knowing he couldn't pretend otherwise, and nodded slowly, never breaking the gaze.
Rose sighed again, looking towards the flame again. It flickered and shone on her pensive face, and Frodo suddenly saw the glint of a tear making it's way down her cheek.
"Oh, Rosie!" he cried softly, rising from his chair and moving to kneel before her. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently as she sobbed quietly into his shirt. Normally she would consider it impertinent to show so much emotion in front of her master, though he would not censure her for it; however, in the dark of the night it somehow seemed different. She could finally see him for what he always wanted to be to her and her family: a friend. A wonderful, giving, caring friend, with a laugh that rang like silver bells and a smile that seemed to brighten the darkest of days.
A friend soon to be lost to them…
"Why, sir?" she asked when she finally gained enough control over her emotions to speak.
Frodo sighed, the soft sound filled with so much emotion it made Rosie's heart clench in her chest. He released her and stood, walking over to the window and leaning against it, gazing out into the night.
"I can't stay," he whispered, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. "I'm wounded, Rose; from the quest, from the pains I've endured, and…I'll die if I stay here."
Rose drew a shaky breath. "Is it us, sir? Is there something we could have done to prevent this?"
Frodo turned from the window quickly, the denial in his face even before he spoke. "Oh, Rosie, of course not," he said. "You and Sam are the reason I've lasted this long. I'd have been gone long ago, if not for your love and support." He smiled at her through his tears, and Rosie knew the smile was genuine. And despite the doubts coursing through her, she believed him.
Still, she was troubled.
"Where will you be going, Mr. Frodo?" she asked. "Who will take care of you?"
Frodo smiled again at her concern. "I'll be traveling to the Gray Havens," he said softly, gazing back out the window. "And traveling across the sea, to live with the elves in the land of Valinor."
Rosie didn't know exactly what he meant, but she did know that if he was with the elves, they would take care of him as well as she could hope to. Sam had spoken of them so often, his face always aglow with wonder, so she knew it would be all right.
Suddenly, Rosie frowned. "Sir…when are you going to tell Sam?"
Frodo turned from the window and paced to his bookshelf, fingering the dusty book covers. After a moment, Rosie saw a tear fall onto his hand, and she stood and walked over to him, sliding an arm around his waist comfortingly.
"I don't know, Rose," he whispered finally. "I'll have to tell him, but…I don't know how. If I tell him now, there will be…I'll never have the heart to leave."
He looked so lost and helpless suddenly that, even though he was over fifteen years her senior, Rose wanted only to comfort him as a mother would her child. She led him back to his chair and made him sit down, then stood with a hand on his shoulder for a moment.
He rested his elbows on the table before him, burying his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in his curls. She could feel his shoulders shaking slightly with sobs, and she rubbed her hand in slow, comforting circles over his back.
"There, now, sir," she whispered around the lump in her own throat. "'Twill be all right. You don't need to go a-weeping, sir."
"Oh, Rosie," he whispered, suddenly sounding small and afraid. "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave him. I don't want to leave the Shire, and you, and the little one you'll be having…"
Rosie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "But you have to."
Frodo nodded. Rosie held him for a moment then stood and stroked his hair thoughtfully for a moment.
Frodo bowed his head under her gentle hand, reveling in the comfort and care he'd not felt from a hobbit-lass since his mother had died so many years ago.
Finally, she spoke again. "Don't tell him," she said firmly. "Write him a letter, I'll give it to him after you've gone. And take him with you when you go. He'll figure it out when you reach the havens, but by then it will be too late for him—or you—to change your mind."
Frodo looked up, shocked. "Is that fair to him…?"
"Would it be fair to him, or to you, to tell him now and make the last months you spend together seem tainted?" she replied. "Would it be fair to put you both through so much agony?"
Frodo sighed and looked down again, knowing she was right. Still, it would be hard to go on as if nothing was going to change…to let Sam think they would be together forever, master and servant, friends until the end…
Rosie leaned down and kissed Frodo gently on the top of his head. "You think on it," she said softly. "Write that letter, give it to me before you go. I'll see it gets to him safely."
Frodo had nodded once as she squeezed his shoulder then turned to go back to bed. He sat up late into the night, thinking on all she'd said, and had resolved to write the letter when he knew how to say what it was he needed to say. And now, six months later, he was still at a loss. He knew he had to write it soon; he was leaving within a month or so. But where could he start? How could he begin to tell Sam what his love, support and friendship had meant to him? How could he tell the person who'd pulled him from shadow and back into life and love and joy all that he wanted to say? How could he give Sam comfort in the long years he would live in the Shire, apart from his master and friend of so many years? Could so much feeling be reduced to ink on a page, to mere words on paper?
*And how could he bear to say goodbye? *
Frodo sighed, bowing his head as the hot tears welled up in his eyes. One of them dropped onto the page before him, leaving a small circular stain on the parchment.
*How ironic, * Frodo thought, *that even my goodbye to him is stained with tears…*
They were always in such pain, it seemed. Nothing had been painless since that fateful day so long ago when Gandalf had reappeared in the shire, telling Frodo of the Ring and It's dangers, warning that he must flee, soon, bearing the Evil with him…flee, for the sake of all those he held dear…
Frodo clenched his fists in his hair as more tears streamed down his cheeks. How he *wished* the ring had never come to him. He knew wishes were all in vain, but it didn't stop his heart and soul from crying for them so hard he thought he might be split in two. Sam held him together, and Rosie, and now little Elanor-lass, but even they were being ripped from him.
Frodo buried his face in his arms and sobbed, feeling his heart shatter.
"Mr. Frodo?"
A soft voice from behind him made him look up quickly.
"Rose," he whispered, seeing her form in the doorway.
She moved forward slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, a mirror image of that night six months ago when she'd told him to do what he'd been trying to do all afternoon.
"What is it, Sir?" she asked quietly.
He glanced down at the blank parchment before him, now spattered with his teardrops. He didn't have to say any more; she seemed to understand. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, she picked up the paper and set it gently aside, then smoothed out a new piece before him. Leaning down, she whispered, "It will be wet enough with his tears, Frodo; don't add your tears to his pain. There will be a time to weep together, but this"—she indicated the fresh blank sheet before them—"this will be his strength, for many years. If it's all you can leave him, then leave it to him untainted."
Her words struck Frodo's soul like spears, but her voice was gentle and kind, and he knew she was right. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and met her gaze. She was smiling, a small, sad smile that held wisdom beyond her years. Nodding once, he picked up the quill again. She squeezed his shoulder once then turned and left the room.
Frodo turned back towards the paper before him and, with a small smile, dipped his quill in the ink well and began to write.
* * *
If anyone's interested, let me know, and I'll continue this…then again, I may continue it anyway. ( I think the next chapter should be Sam's POV after Frodo leaves, don't you? Reading the letter and reflecting…hmmm…
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: G
Characters: Frodo Rosie
Summary: Frodo draws strength from a friend as he tries to figure out how to tell Sam he'll be leaving Middle earth. Not a slash fic.
Feedback: Don't make me beg. Okay, fine, I'm begging. Please, please, please R/R or email me?? I love email! (Trilliah@hotmail.com, if you don't want to mess with links) ;)
Disclaimer: AHH! Don't hurt me!! I don't own them, honest, and I'm not making any money…just finding ways to fill my otherwise empty life with a little bit of harmless worship…*sweet smile*
A/n: this is not a Frodo/Rosie fic—I always wanted more to be said about the relationship between Frodo and Rosie. I, in my girlish notions of the beauty of friendship, think they would have become very close, with Rosie sort of mothering Frodo. What do you think?
* * *
Frodo Baggins sat in his study, staring at the blank sheet of parchment before him despondently. He'd been sitting like that since luncheon, quill poised over the paper as he desperately tried to think of something he could write, something he could say to try and explain…
Nothing came to him, and still he sat, unable to move until he finished this. Unable to seek rest until he found closure.
He was leaving. Soon. He'd be meeting Bilbo and Gandalf and Elrond, traveling to the havens and leaving middle earth forever.
And somehow, he was going to have to tell Sam…
At least Rosie already knew. Frodo smiled. Dear lass, she'd seen it in his eyes despite his attempts to hide it. She'd kept quiet, but one night six months ago she'd sought him out, after Sam had gone to bed, knowing Frodo wouldn't be asleep. Frodo thought back, his eyes clouding briefly as the scene played in his mind.
"Mr. Frodo?" she had whispered, knocking softly on his study door, which was standing ajar.
He'd turned around and smiled warmly at her. "Rose," he said kindly. "What can I do for you?"
She had bitten her lip, looking a bit hesitant, and Frodo stood up, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?" he asked, moving towards her. "Is the baby…?"
She smiled and placed a hand over her large baby. "No, Mr. Frodo, he's fine, and he's not coming just yet," she said, lowering her eyes and blushing slightly at her master's concern. Frodo smiled, relieved, and helped Rose to one of the seats in front of the large fireplace. A fire was burning merrily, wood crackling and filling the room with the sweet scent of pine. Sam had built it up before he'd gone to bed, and in tribute to his skill it was still going strong nearly three hours later.
Frodo sat back in his chair and gently regarded Rose, a question in his eyes. She had glanced at her feet, then the wall, then her feet again, before finally summoning the courage to meet his gaze.
Frodo had been startled to see there were tears in her large brown eyes.
"Rose?" he cried, almost getting to his feet again, but she held up a hand to stop him. Settling back halfway but unable to relax, he gazed at her concernedly. "What's wrong?"
Rose had drawn a shaky breath, then said ever so softly, "When are you going to do it?"
Frodo had been a bit taken aback. "I'm sorry?"
Rose looked away, staring into the fire. "When are you going to leave us?"
Frodo cocked his head at her. She seemed to notice and glanced back at him. "You are leaving, aren't you, Mr. Frodo." It wasn't a question.
Frodo sighed, knowing he couldn't pretend otherwise, and nodded slowly, never breaking the gaze.
Rose sighed again, looking towards the flame again. It flickered and shone on her pensive face, and Frodo suddenly saw the glint of a tear making it's way down her cheek.
"Oh, Rosie!" he cried softly, rising from his chair and moving to kneel before her. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently as she sobbed quietly into his shirt. Normally she would consider it impertinent to show so much emotion in front of her master, though he would not censure her for it; however, in the dark of the night it somehow seemed different. She could finally see him for what he always wanted to be to her and her family: a friend. A wonderful, giving, caring friend, with a laugh that rang like silver bells and a smile that seemed to brighten the darkest of days.
A friend soon to be lost to them…
"Why, sir?" she asked when she finally gained enough control over her emotions to speak.
Frodo sighed, the soft sound filled with so much emotion it made Rosie's heart clench in her chest. He released her and stood, walking over to the window and leaning against it, gazing out into the night.
"I can't stay," he whispered, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. "I'm wounded, Rose; from the quest, from the pains I've endured, and…I'll die if I stay here."
Rose drew a shaky breath. "Is it us, sir? Is there something we could have done to prevent this?"
Frodo turned from the window quickly, the denial in his face even before he spoke. "Oh, Rosie, of course not," he said. "You and Sam are the reason I've lasted this long. I'd have been gone long ago, if not for your love and support." He smiled at her through his tears, and Rosie knew the smile was genuine. And despite the doubts coursing through her, she believed him.
Still, she was troubled.
"Where will you be going, Mr. Frodo?" she asked. "Who will take care of you?"
Frodo smiled again at her concern. "I'll be traveling to the Gray Havens," he said softly, gazing back out the window. "And traveling across the sea, to live with the elves in the land of Valinor."
Rosie didn't know exactly what he meant, but she did know that if he was with the elves, they would take care of him as well as she could hope to. Sam had spoken of them so often, his face always aglow with wonder, so she knew it would be all right.
Suddenly, Rosie frowned. "Sir…when are you going to tell Sam?"
Frodo turned from the window and paced to his bookshelf, fingering the dusty book covers. After a moment, Rosie saw a tear fall onto his hand, and she stood and walked over to him, sliding an arm around his waist comfortingly.
"I don't know, Rose," he whispered finally. "I'll have to tell him, but…I don't know how. If I tell him now, there will be…I'll never have the heart to leave."
He looked so lost and helpless suddenly that, even though he was over fifteen years her senior, Rose wanted only to comfort him as a mother would her child. She led him back to his chair and made him sit down, then stood with a hand on his shoulder for a moment.
He rested his elbows on the table before him, burying his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in his curls. She could feel his shoulders shaking slightly with sobs, and she rubbed her hand in slow, comforting circles over his back.
"There, now, sir," she whispered around the lump in her own throat. "'Twill be all right. You don't need to go a-weeping, sir."
"Oh, Rosie," he whispered, suddenly sounding small and afraid. "I don't want to go. I don't want to leave him. I don't want to leave the Shire, and you, and the little one you'll be having…"
Rosie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "But you have to."
Frodo nodded. Rosie held him for a moment then stood and stroked his hair thoughtfully for a moment.
Frodo bowed his head under her gentle hand, reveling in the comfort and care he'd not felt from a hobbit-lass since his mother had died so many years ago.
Finally, she spoke again. "Don't tell him," she said firmly. "Write him a letter, I'll give it to him after you've gone. And take him with you when you go. He'll figure it out when you reach the havens, but by then it will be too late for him—or you—to change your mind."
Frodo looked up, shocked. "Is that fair to him…?"
"Would it be fair to him, or to you, to tell him now and make the last months you spend together seem tainted?" she replied. "Would it be fair to put you both through so much agony?"
Frodo sighed and looked down again, knowing she was right. Still, it would be hard to go on as if nothing was going to change…to let Sam think they would be together forever, master and servant, friends until the end…
Rosie leaned down and kissed Frodo gently on the top of his head. "You think on it," she said softly. "Write that letter, give it to me before you go. I'll see it gets to him safely."
Frodo had nodded once as she squeezed his shoulder then turned to go back to bed. He sat up late into the night, thinking on all she'd said, and had resolved to write the letter when he knew how to say what it was he needed to say. And now, six months later, he was still at a loss. He knew he had to write it soon; he was leaving within a month or so. But where could he start? How could he begin to tell Sam what his love, support and friendship had meant to him? How could he tell the person who'd pulled him from shadow and back into life and love and joy all that he wanted to say? How could he give Sam comfort in the long years he would live in the Shire, apart from his master and friend of so many years? Could so much feeling be reduced to ink on a page, to mere words on paper?
*And how could he bear to say goodbye? *
Frodo sighed, bowing his head as the hot tears welled up in his eyes. One of them dropped onto the page before him, leaving a small circular stain on the parchment.
*How ironic, * Frodo thought, *that even my goodbye to him is stained with tears…*
They were always in such pain, it seemed. Nothing had been painless since that fateful day so long ago when Gandalf had reappeared in the shire, telling Frodo of the Ring and It's dangers, warning that he must flee, soon, bearing the Evil with him…flee, for the sake of all those he held dear…
Frodo clenched his fists in his hair as more tears streamed down his cheeks. How he *wished* the ring had never come to him. He knew wishes were all in vain, but it didn't stop his heart and soul from crying for them so hard he thought he might be split in two. Sam held him together, and Rosie, and now little Elanor-lass, but even they were being ripped from him.
Frodo buried his face in his arms and sobbed, feeling his heart shatter.
"Mr. Frodo?"
A soft voice from behind him made him look up quickly.
"Rose," he whispered, seeing her form in the doorway.
She moved forward slowly and placed a hand on his shoulder, a mirror image of that night six months ago when she'd told him to do what he'd been trying to do all afternoon.
"What is it, Sir?" she asked quietly.
He glanced down at the blank parchment before him, now spattered with his teardrops. He didn't have to say any more; she seemed to understand. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, she picked up the paper and set it gently aside, then smoothed out a new piece before him. Leaning down, she whispered, "It will be wet enough with his tears, Frodo; don't add your tears to his pain. There will be a time to weep together, but this"—she indicated the fresh blank sheet before them—"this will be his strength, for many years. If it's all you can leave him, then leave it to him untainted."
Her words struck Frodo's soul like spears, but her voice was gentle and kind, and he knew she was right. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and met her gaze. She was smiling, a small, sad smile that held wisdom beyond her years. Nodding once, he picked up the quill again. She squeezed his shoulder once then turned and left the room.
Frodo turned back towards the paper before him and, with a small smile, dipped his quill in the ink well and began to write.
* * *
If anyone's interested, let me know, and I'll continue this…then again, I may continue it anyway. ( I think the next chapter should be Sam's POV after Frodo leaves, don't you? Reading the letter and reflecting…hmmm…