Chapter Rating: PG
Chapter Title: Moria Memories
May 15th S.R. 1420
It was time for Iris and Frodo's weekly Friday afternoon walk. It was an unusually mild afternoon, full of the promise of a warm gentle summer. The bees were busily pollinating all the flowers around Bag End's front door. Iris was wearing a little short-sleeved sun dress. Frodo smiled to see her body outlined in the strong afternoon sunlight as he opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Mister Baggins," she said.
"Good afternoon, Miss Proudfoot," he replied. It was a ritual they performed each Friday. "Please come in. And where are we to go to today?" he inquired as she walked into the hallway.
"I was thinking that a walk to Overhill and then along the old North Dwarf Road to Deephallow might be nice. Not too far today, but far enough."
"Right then. Let me get my walking stick and a bit of brass," Frodo said as he organized his quills, inkpots, and papers into neat stacks and placed paperweights atop them. "We can pop into The Rose and Lily at Overhill on the way back. They have a nice ale there and the food is not bad either. And I believe Shandy Bracegirdle is playing fiddle there tonight."
They started walking out of Bag End and along the road towards Overhill. A steady gentle breeze blew out of the South, sending wisps of clouds scurrying along and making the grass seed heads nod sleepily. They hiked along, only occasionally being passed by a farmer or merchant traveling by cart and pony. Each time they are asked if they would like a ride, and each time they politely declined.
After about an hour's walk in their steady rhythm Iris began her weekly questioning. "How is your book coming along?"
"Rather well, thank you," Frodo replied. "But really, you know, it is Bilbo's book. He started it and wrote the beginning and all of the poetry. I am filling in the details about the 'Happenings down South' as the folk in Bree call the War. Yesterday I began setting down what happened when we were in the Mines of Moria. That was a very dark time. I am trying to remember exactly what happened in there. Sometimes I remember things so clearly it is as if I am actually living them all over again. And other times my mind refuses to let me access certain thoughts. I know they are there. It is just that I cannot quite recall them fully. I am having to leave some things blank until I can ask Sam or Merry or Pippin to come help me remember them. But in this section I have no problems remembering everything."
Iris smiled with satisfaction as they continued down the road. This is an unusually forthright statement from Frodo. Every time they traveled on their Friday walks, he was volunteering a little more information about the War and his role in it. Today was the first time he had mentioned that he was having trouble remembering certain obviously painful memories. "A good step. A necessary step," Iris thought.
"I've never heard of Moria," she said. "Where is it?"
"There is an enormous line of mountains south of the Southfarthing about 140 miles or so," explained Frodo. "It is actually a continuation of the Misty Mountains which extends very deep from the North into the South. These mountains have very few passes. One of them is the pass of the Redhorn Gate which leads under a side of Mount Caradhras. The Fellowship tried to use this pass to take us over the mountains, but that way was closed to us due to heavy snow. So Gimil, the Dwarf, suggested we go under the mountains, using the ancient Dwarf road leading through Moria. Moria is actually a wonderful complex of halls and rooms and tunnels which the Dwarves delved all the way from the West side of the mountains to the East. I would have loved to have seen them in their glory, all lighted up and full of life. But when we were there, it had been taken over by the Orcs. Orcs, and other worse creatures."
At this, he stopped talking and actually stopped walking. Iris almost ran into him on the road, he stopped so suddenly. He was staring into space, remembering some long-suppressed memory.
"Frodo?" she asked, gently taking him by the arm. "Look. There's a little path which leads off the road and into the glen over there. Let's take that and find a place to rest for a bit." This too was part of their ritual.
He nodded and was willing to be lead. After a few minutes walk they reached a small meadow in the glen. Here they rested under a large oak tree, opened up Iris's backpack and shared some bread and water. After eating, Frodo stretched out on the soft leaves, resting his head in Iris's lap.
"I'm sorry I just stopped like that," Frodo said. "I was remembering a particular nasty instance where the Fellowship was attacked by Orcs. I was speared by a cave troll, but luckily I was wearing Bilbo's mithril coat. Sam was injured with a cut to the head. But we ran into a Balrog. Sometimes these memories become so real it is as if I am physically transported back there, crouching in the dark, waiting for battle to begin. All I have to defend myself is my sword, Sting. I feel so guilty knowing that Sam or Merry or Pippin, or any of the Company is willing to sacrifice their lives in order to save me. Or worse yet, waiting for Gandalf to fall into the abyss again with the Balrog."
Frodo swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. After a moment, he continued.
"Boromir is holding me against my will. He has me off my feet. He is holding me tight so that I almost cannot breathe. He won't let me run back and help Gandalf. I remember screaming and fighting Boromir to put me down. But Boromir would not let me go. I hated him at that moment. I never really trusted him on the journey, but right then I hated his strength and his level-headedness. He was right, but I did not want to hear it. Really, there was not anything any of us could do against a Balrog. Not even Legolas. But I wanted so badly to run back to Gandalf. I did not know what I would do without him. It was all so hopeless after that. So hopeless."
Iris let him talk at his own pace, gently combing his hair through her fingers. They did this often on their walks. Iris asked quietly, "Frodo, what's a Balrog?"
He sighed. "It is a demon from the First Age. A servant of Morgoth. Not really under Sauron's control, since they were at the beginning of the First Age along with Sauron. They are great demons of fire and smoke and fear, made of the elements of darkness and destruction. I did not know about them until one came after us in Moria. The Dwarves of Moria delved too deeply and accidentally let it out of its underground prison. It killed the Dwarves and even terrified the Orcs. Legolas knew what it was. I guess he or his father fought against one or saw some in the great battle of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves in the First Age. I know Bilbo wrote some about that battle. He mentioned that Lord Elrond was at the battle too, and there were Balrogs there. The one that attacked us exhaled fire and smoke and poisonous air. It shook the very roots of the mountain as it walked. It had a whip of burning gold and red fire. That is what trapped Gandalf and pulled him into the abyss - that whip. Did you know that Gandalf actually died there fighting the Balrog?"
"No, I didn't know," Iris said. "How is that possible? You said he and the eagles rescued you and Sam from Mount Doom. How is that possible?"
"Gandalf told us he was sent back," Frodo replied. "That was the first time I was absolutely sure as to exactly what he is. Gandalf is an Istari, a servant of the Valor. He was sent from the Far West to Middle-Earth to help contest the power of Sauron. But the Balrog was an equal match to his strength and battled him until both were killed. However, since Gandalf is an immortal, the Valor sent him back to complete his mission. He was sent back this time as Gandalf the White instead of Gandalf the Grey. His true powers were finally unleashed. And to think I used to joke with him and hide his pipe when I was a young hobbit-lad."
"If he's so powerful, why did he even bother with hobbits?" Iris asked.
"He likes hobbits," Frodo smiled. "He has told me so on more than one occasion. We are not smart and lofty and immortal like the Elves. Nor are we clever and crafty and tough like the Dwarves. And we are certainly not strong and brave and sometimes cruel like Men. But he has a fondness for our small-town peaceful plain-speaking ways. He does not have a home. But I think he feels most at rest when he is in the Shire. Here he is only known as an old man who does wonderful fireworks and temps young hobbits into adventures. He can leave his terrible responsibilities elsewhere and just relax here. He can sometimes find peace here."
"Are you talking about Gandalf, or about yourself?" Iris quietly inquired.
Frodo didn't say anything for quite some time. "We are more alike than I realized."
"What's going to happen to Gandalf, now that the War is over?" she asked.
"He will sail West with the Elves soon. The Elves are leaving Middle- Earth, you know? All of them. All the beautiful work they accomplished using their three Rings of Power has now come undone. They are fading, and soon they will abandon Middle-Earth to Men. Their time has passed. And all their accomplishment will turn to dust and ruin. They will probably be forgotten or turned into legends as memories of these events and times fade as well. Even now most hobbits have never seen an Elf. Some believe them to be imaginary beings. They will become little more than stories soon."
"That sounds so sad, Frodo," Iris said.
"It is somewhat sad, but the Elves fully knew this would be the outcome if the One Ring was destroyed. They accepted their fate."
Frodo stared darkly into the shadows of the leaves in the overhead tree. His voice took on an edge of anger. "You should not feel pity for the Elves. They can leave and go to a better place than here. They have a peaceful, unspoiled home across the Western Sea awaiting their tall ships. And Gandalf accomplished his mission. He can return to the West fully satisfied and whole. He and they can leave anytime they desire. They are not subject to disease and death. And their sufferings and pains are healed across the Sea."
Suddenly Frodo sat upright, fists clenched. Tears of anger suddenly appeared in his eyes.
"I am the one who ends up wounded!" he cried in frustration. "Why me? Why was I the one chosen? Gandalf would not even touch the Ring! He knew what it would do to a mortal. It was too great a temptation for even an Istari. Galadriel refused it also. Why was it given to me?
I wish this thing had never happened. I would not be so tormented now. It has been over a year since the Ring was destroyed, yet I am still haunted by it. I feel its weight around my neck. I carried that thing of evil for so long I do not think I shall ever be free of the lust for it. It is still whispering terrible things in my head."
With that outburst Frodo stood up and strode back towards the road. Iris hurriedly gathered up their packs and walking sticks and ran after him. But he had disappeared from view by the time she reached the road. Laying the packs and sticks aside, she calmed herself and stood very still. Her quick thinking was rewarded. In the still afternoon air she heard sobbing coming from back down the roadway.
"Frodo?" she called out. There was no answer.
She found him sitting in the mud with his back up against a deep rut along the road. He had his knees drawn up, his head bowed down and his hands in his hair, crying. She squatted down beside him in the road. He was utterly miserable.
"Frodo. Your feelings are real and your pain is real. It hurts! You've been terribly wounded. But what you just told me is the most important thing you've ever said to me. This is the type of thing you need to say out loud so that you can hear it, understand it, and then deal with it. Your anger, your frustration, your torment. This is part of the healing."
Frodo's look was full of black despair. "Iris, I am so afraid of myself. There are times when I think I cannot control my own body. I have little control over my own thoughts. I have been fighting the evil of the Ring for so long I do not know how to stop. I am afraid I will do or say something bizarre around Sam, or around Rosie, or even in public. What would they think of me? Oh, Elbereth, what can I do?"
"You're doing it right now," she said. "You're talking about your feelings. This is another crisis and you're pulling through it. You'll live through this day and you'll be better able to handle tonight and tomorrow. Now come. Let's get off the road. We'll return to that little glen and let you calm down."
They climbed up out of the rut and returned to where Iris had dropped the packs. Picking up their gear, they silently walked to the oak tree in the glen. There, Iris made Frodo lie down on the ground on his back. She sat herself cross-legged behind his head. He had regained control of himself now, but was still clearly agitated.
"I'm going to teach you a relaxation technique you can use to calm yourself whenever you need to," Iris said. "Place your arms away from your body. Close your eyes. Now breathe slowly from deep within. Don't use your chest or shoulders. Breathe in through your nose. Now slowly exhale through your mouth. Spread it out over a count of five. Now, breathe in again, slowly. Good. Exhale. Again. Slowly in. Exhale. Think of a calm, tranquil place. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale. Calm your mind. Your body is floating on a bed of warm air. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale. Release all your muscles and let your breathing become the only thing you're aware of. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale."
Iris continued her calm, soothing sing-song monolog. Frodo's breathing became very calm and regular. After awhile, Iris stopped her talking. Frodo had dropped off to sleep.
The sun was setting, sending out golden rays through scattered clouds of salmon, pink and dusty purple. Iris twisted around and reached for her water container. The slight movement awakened Frodo. He raised himself on one elbow and turned around to look at her.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.
"Only a few minutes," she replied. "You needed it. How do you feel now?" She handed him the water.
He sat up, crossed his legs and took a sip. "Better, but rather tired. I would rather not continue. Let's go back to Hobbiton now. I do not think I could bear much excitement tonight."
"Before we go let's revisit what happened today," she said.
"I really do not want to," he protested, shame clouding his handsome face.
"Well you're going to anyway, Mister Baggins," she replied firmly. "So just sit there and listen for a moment.
You've finally confessed to being angry at having to bear the responsibility for carrying the Ring. Frodo, no mortal could have born that burden as long as you did without being horribly affected by it. Remember, you yourself said that not even the Immortals would touch it. But you carried it. You were responsible for it for years. But you were strong. You've resisted its evil. And you survived, but not without a terrible price. Frodo, no one expected more from you. And you have a right to feel angry and abandoned. But you are not alone. You have Sam and me and Merry and Pippin and Rosie and all of the Shire to help you heal. You've taken a very great step today in confronting your anger and torment."
"Ah, but Iris," he sighed, "It is so painful. And I feel so out of control when these memories come back to me. And I am afraid I will never be free from the pain."
"Yes, it is painful. It's painful and wretched. But you must face your terrible memories. I'm here with you. That's why you have friends. You know Sam would give his life for you. He doesn't have to know what you're going through if you don't want him to. I think you should, but that decision is up to you. It should be a comfort just to know Sam's there for you when you need him. We are all here to comfort you and to share our strength. Once you've talked about your inner demons we can face them and overcome them together. Even Beren One-Hand could not continue without Luthien.
As for feeling out of control, try using the deep breathing technique when you feel you need it. You don't have to be lying down, nor does it always lead to sleep. Just concentrate on slowing your breathing down to calm yourself and regain your composure."
Frodo reluctantly nodded, stood up, and helped Iris to her feet. They remained facing each other holding hands as the sun sat. Then they re- shouldered their packs, picked up their walking sticks, and returned to the road.
Frodo was exhausted now, as if he had been fighting something all day and suddenly the battle was finished. He and Iris walked back to Hobbiton in silence. As they rounded the Hill and headed towards Bag End, Frodo clasped Iris's hand and stopped her. He reached out to caress her curls in his wounded hand as they stood in the twilight.
"Iris," he said, "I never expected to cause you so much trouble. And I certainly never wanted to inflict my personal thoughts onto anyone. Perhaps we had best stop these walks."
"No Frodo," she said, "don't do this. I'll not allow it. You've made a great breakthrough today, even though you might think it to be a set-back and are embarrassed. Let's continue. You're doing so well. You're getting out a bit now, and I know you've started writing in that book of yours."
"I felt like an idiot today," he confessed. "Rambling on about things. Talking about Gandalf that way. Crying. Iris, this is incredibly embarrassing."
"But do you think it's helping you cope with what happened to you?"
"I do not know. Perhaps."
Iris took his hands in hers and forced him to look her directly in the eyes. "Frodo, sleep on it tonight. Think about how far you've come in such a short time. And practice the deep breathing as you're lying in bed ready for sleep. See if you have a nightmare tonight or not. I'll come over tomorrow morning and we'll decide how to proceed then. Can you promise me you'll do that tonight?"
"Oh, all right," he finally said. "Just for you."
And with that they traveled past Bag End and down into Hobbiton. After dropping Iris off at her house, Frodo climbed back up the little hill and went inside his home. He wasn't hungry, only thirsty, so he skipped both dinner and supper and had a couple of glasses of wine. That night he took a long, hot bath and lay down for sleep. He was exhausted, but sleep would not come easily. His mind kept wondering about where Gandalf was and when he was going to pass over into the West. He wondered if Gandalf would stop by Bag End before he left. Whether it would be best if he himself should also pass into the West along with the Elves and Gandalf. Sleep would be a long-time coming if he could not calm down his mind and stop his stomach from clenching. Then he remembered about the deep breathing and relaxing exercises he had done earlier in the day.
"It certainly couldn't hurt to try," he thought out loud. In about thirty minutes he was asleep.
May 15th S.R. 1420
It was time for Iris and Frodo's weekly Friday afternoon walk. It was an unusually mild afternoon, full of the promise of a warm gentle summer. The bees were busily pollinating all the flowers around Bag End's front door. Iris was wearing a little short-sleeved sun dress. Frodo smiled to see her body outlined in the strong afternoon sunlight as he opened the door.
"Good afternoon, Mister Baggins," she said.
"Good afternoon, Miss Proudfoot," he replied. It was a ritual they performed each Friday. "Please come in. And where are we to go to today?" he inquired as she walked into the hallway.
"I was thinking that a walk to Overhill and then along the old North Dwarf Road to Deephallow might be nice. Not too far today, but far enough."
"Right then. Let me get my walking stick and a bit of brass," Frodo said as he organized his quills, inkpots, and papers into neat stacks and placed paperweights atop them. "We can pop into The Rose and Lily at Overhill on the way back. They have a nice ale there and the food is not bad either. And I believe Shandy Bracegirdle is playing fiddle there tonight."
They started walking out of Bag End and along the road towards Overhill. A steady gentle breeze blew out of the South, sending wisps of clouds scurrying along and making the grass seed heads nod sleepily. They hiked along, only occasionally being passed by a farmer or merchant traveling by cart and pony. Each time they are asked if they would like a ride, and each time they politely declined.
After about an hour's walk in their steady rhythm Iris began her weekly questioning. "How is your book coming along?"
"Rather well, thank you," Frodo replied. "But really, you know, it is Bilbo's book. He started it and wrote the beginning and all of the poetry. I am filling in the details about the 'Happenings down South' as the folk in Bree call the War. Yesterday I began setting down what happened when we were in the Mines of Moria. That was a very dark time. I am trying to remember exactly what happened in there. Sometimes I remember things so clearly it is as if I am actually living them all over again. And other times my mind refuses to let me access certain thoughts. I know they are there. It is just that I cannot quite recall them fully. I am having to leave some things blank until I can ask Sam or Merry or Pippin to come help me remember them. But in this section I have no problems remembering everything."
Iris smiled with satisfaction as they continued down the road. This is an unusually forthright statement from Frodo. Every time they traveled on their Friday walks, he was volunteering a little more information about the War and his role in it. Today was the first time he had mentioned that he was having trouble remembering certain obviously painful memories. "A good step. A necessary step," Iris thought.
"I've never heard of Moria," she said. "Where is it?"
"There is an enormous line of mountains south of the Southfarthing about 140 miles or so," explained Frodo. "It is actually a continuation of the Misty Mountains which extends very deep from the North into the South. These mountains have very few passes. One of them is the pass of the Redhorn Gate which leads under a side of Mount Caradhras. The Fellowship tried to use this pass to take us over the mountains, but that way was closed to us due to heavy snow. So Gimil, the Dwarf, suggested we go under the mountains, using the ancient Dwarf road leading through Moria. Moria is actually a wonderful complex of halls and rooms and tunnels which the Dwarves delved all the way from the West side of the mountains to the East. I would have loved to have seen them in their glory, all lighted up and full of life. But when we were there, it had been taken over by the Orcs. Orcs, and other worse creatures."
At this, he stopped talking and actually stopped walking. Iris almost ran into him on the road, he stopped so suddenly. He was staring into space, remembering some long-suppressed memory.
"Frodo?" she asked, gently taking him by the arm. "Look. There's a little path which leads off the road and into the glen over there. Let's take that and find a place to rest for a bit." This too was part of their ritual.
He nodded and was willing to be lead. After a few minutes walk they reached a small meadow in the glen. Here they rested under a large oak tree, opened up Iris's backpack and shared some bread and water. After eating, Frodo stretched out on the soft leaves, resting his head in Iris's lap.
"I'm sorry I just stopped like that," Frodo said. "I was remembering a particular nasty instance where the Fellowship was attacked by Orcs. I was speared by a cave troll, but luckily I was wearing Bilbo's mithril coat. Sam was injured with a cut to the head. But we ran into a Balrog. Sometimes these memories become so real it is as if I am physically transported back there, crouching in the dark, waiting for battle to begin. All I have to defend myself is my sword, Sting. I feel so guilty knowing that Sam or Merry or Pippin, or any of the Company is willing to sacrifice their lives in order to save me. Or worse yet, waiting for Gandalf to fall into the abyss again with the Balrog."
Frodo swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. After a moment, he continued.
"Boromir is holding me against my will. He has me off my feet. He is holding me tight so that I almost cannot breathe. He won't let me run back and help Gandalf. I remember screaming and fighting Boromir to put me down. But Boromir would not let me go. I hated him at that moment. I never really trusted him on the journey, but right then I hated his strength and his level-headedness. He was right, but I did not want to hear it. Really, there was not anything any of us could do against a Balrog. Not even Legolas. But I wanted so badly to run back to Gandalf. I did not know what I would do without him. It was all so hopeless after that. So hopeless."
Iris let him talk at his own pace, gently combing his hair through her fingers. They did this often on their walks. Iris asked quietly, "Frodo, what's a Balrog?"
He sighed. "It is a demon from the First Age. A servant of Morgoth. Not really under Sauron's control, since they were at the beginning of the First Age along with Sauron. They are great demons of fire and smoke and fear, made of the elements of darkness and destruction. I did not know about them until one came after us in Moria. The Dwarves of Moria delved too deeply and accidentally let it out of its underground prison. It killed the Dwarves and even terrified the Orcs. Legolas knew what it was. I guess he or his father fought against one or saw some in the great battle of the Last Alliance of Men and Elves in the First Age. I know Bilbo wrote some about that battle. He mentioned that Lord Elrond was at the battle too, and there were Balrogs there. The one that attacked us exhaled fire and smoke and poisonous air. It shook the very roots of the mountain as it walked. It had a whip of burning gold and red fire. That is what trapped Gandalf and pulled him into the abyss - that whip. Did you know that Gandalf actually died there fighting the Balrog?"
"No, I didn't know," Iris said. "How is that possible? You said he and the eagles rescued you and Sam from Mount Doom. How is that possible?"
"Gandalf told us he was sent back," Frodo replied. "That was the first time I was absolutely sure as to exactly what he is. Gandalf is an Istari, a servant of the Valor. He was sent from the Far West to Middle-Earth to help contest the power of Sauron. But the Balrog was an equal match to his strength and battled him until both were killed. However, since Gandalf is an immortal, the Valor sent him back to complete his mission. He was sent back this time as Gandalf the White instead of Gandalf the Grey. His true powers were finally unleashed. And to think I used to joke with him and hide his pipe when I was a young hobbit-lad."
"If he's so powerful, why did he even bother with hobbits?" Iris asked.
"He likes hobbits," Frodo smiled. "He has told me so on more than one occasion. We are not smart and lofty and immortal like the Elves. Nor are we clever and crafty and tough like the Dwarves. And we are certainly not strong and brave and sometimes cruel like Men. But he has a fondness for our small-town peaceful plain-speaking ways. He does not have a home. But I think he feels most at rest when he is in the Shire. Here he is only known as an old man who does wonderful fireworks and temps young hobbits into adventures. He can leave his terrible responsibilities elsewhere and just relax here. He can sometimes find peace here."
"Are you talking about Gandalf, or about yourself?" Iris quietly inquired.
Frodo didn't say anything for quite some time. "We are more alike than I realized."
"What's going to happen to Gandalf, now that the War is over?" she asked.
"He will sail West with the Elves soon. The Elves are leaving Middle- Earth, you know? All of them. All the beautiful work they accomplished using their three Rings of Power has now come undone. They are fading, and soon they will abandon Middle-Earth to Men. Their time has passed. And all their accomplishment will turn to dust and ruin. They will probably be forgotten or turned into legends as memories of these events and times fade as well. Even now most hobbits have never seen an Elf. Some believe them to be imaginary beings. They will become little more than stories soon."
"That sounds so sad, Frodo," Iris said.
"It is somewhat sad, but the Elves fully knew this would be the outcome if the One Ring was destroyed. They accepted their fate."
Frodo stared darkly into the shadows of the leaves in the overhead tree. His voice took on an edge of anger. "You should not feel pity for the Elves. They can leave and go to a better place than here. They have a peaceful, unspoiled home across the Western Sea awaiting their tall ships. And Gandalf accomplished his mission. He can return to the West fully satisfied and whole. He and they can leave anytime they desire. They are not subject to disease and death. And their sufferings and pains are healed across the Sea."
Suddenly Frodo sat upright, fists clenched. Tears of anger suddenly appeared in his eyes.
"I am the one who ends up wounded!" he cried in frustration. "Why me? Why was I the one chosen? Gandalf would not even touch the Ring! He knew what it would do to a mortal. It was too great a temptation for even an Istari. Galadriel refused it also. Why was it given to me?
I wish this thing had never happened. I would not be so tormented now. It has been over a year since the Ring was destroyed, yet I am still haunted by it. I feel its weight around my neck. I carried that thing of evil for so long I do not think I shall ever be free of the lust for it. It is still whispering terrible things in my head."
With that outburst Frodo stood up and strode back towards the road. Iris hurriedly gathered up their packs and walking sticks and ran after him. But he had disappeared from view by the time she reached the road. Laying the packs and sticks aside, she calmed herself and stood very still. Her quick thinking was rewarded. In the still afternoon air she heard sobbing coming from back down the roadway.
"Frodo?" she called out. There was no answer.
She found him sitting in the mud with his back up against a deep rut along the road. He had his knees drawn up, his head bowed down and his hands in his hair, crying. She squatted down beside him in the road. He was utterly miserable.
"Frodo. Your feelings are real and your pain is real. It hurts! You've been terribly wounded. But what you just told me is the most important thing you've ever said to me. This is the type of thing you need to say out loud so that you can hear it, understand it, and then deal with it. Your anger, your frustration, your torment. This is part of the healing."
Frodo's look was full of black despair. "Iris, I am so afraid of myself. There are times when I think I cannot control my own body. I have little control over my own thoughts. I have been fighting the evil of the Ring for so long I do not know how to stop. I am afraid I will do or say something bizarre around Sam, or around Rosie, or even in public. What would they think of me? Oh, Elbereth, what can I do?"
"You're doing it right now," she said. "You're talking about your feelings. This is another crisis and you're pulling through it. You'll live through this day and you'll be better able to handle tonight and tomorrow. Now come. Let's get off the road. We'll return to that little glen and let you calm down."
They climbed up out of the rut and returned to where Iris had dropped the packs. Picking up their gear, they silently walked to the oak tree in the glen. There, Iris made Frodo lie down on the ground on his back. She sat herself cross-legged behind his head. He had regained control of himself now, but was still clearly agitated.
"I'm going to teach you a relaxation technique you can use to calm yourself whenever you need to," Iris said. "Place your arms away from your body. Close your eyes. Now breathe slowly from deep within. Don't use your chest or shoulders. Breathe in through your nose. Now slowly exhale through your mouth. Spread it out over a count of five. Now, breathe in again, slowly. Good. Exhale. Again. Slowly in. Exhale. Think of a calm, tranquil place. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale. Calm your mind. Your body is floating on a bed of warm air. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale. Release all your muscles and let your breathing become the only thing you're aware of. Breathe in. Relax. Exhale."
Iris continued her calm, soothing sing-song monolog. Frodo's breathing became very calm and regular. After awhile, Iris stopped her talking. Frodo had dropped off to sleep.
The sun was setting, sending out golden rays through scattered clouds of salmon, pink and dusty purple. Iris twisted around and reached for her water container. The slight movement awakened Frodo. He raised himself on one elbow and turned around to look at her.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.
"Only a few minutes," she replied. "You needed it. How do you feel now?" She handed him the water.
He sat up, crossed his legs and took a sip. "Better, but rather tired. I would rather not continue. Let's go back to Hobbiton now. I do not think I could bear much excitement tonight."
"Before we go let's revisit what happened today," she said.
"I really do not want to," he protested, shame clouding his handsome face.
"Well you're going to anyway, Mister Baggins," she replied firmly. "So just sit there and listen for a moment.
You've finally confessed to being angry at having to bear the responsibility for carrying the Ring. Frodo, no mortal could have born that burden as long as you did without being horribly affected by it. Remember, you yourself said that not even the Immortals would touch it. But you carried it. You were responsible for it for years. But you were strong. You've resisted its evil. And you survived, but not without a terrible price. Frodo, no one expected more from you. And you have a right to feel angry and abandoned. But you are not alone. You have Sam and me and Merry and Pippin and Rosie and all of the Shire to help you heal. You've taken a very great step today in confronting your anger and torment."
"Ah, but Iris," he sighed, "It is so painful. And I feel so out of control when these memories come back to me. And I am afraid I will never be free from the pain."
"Yes, it is painful. It's painful and wretched. But you must face your terrible memories. I'm here with you. That's why you have friends. You know Sam would give his life for you. He doesn't have to know what you're going through if you don't want him to. I think you should, but that decision is up to you. It should be a comfort just to know Sam's there for you when you need him. We are all here to comfort you and to share our strength. Once you've talked about your inner demons we can face them and overcome them together. Even Beren One-Hand could not continue without Luthien.
As for feeling out of control, try using the deep breathing technique when you feel you need it. You don't have to be lying down, nor does it always lead to sleep. Just concentrate on slowing your breathing down to calm yourself and regain your composure."
Frodo reluctantly nodded, stood up, and helped Iris to her feet. They remained facing each other holding hands as the sun sat. Then they re- shouldered their packs, picked up their walking sticks, and returned to the road.
Frodo was exhausted now, as if he had been fighting something all day and suddenly the battle was finished. He and Iris walked back to Hobbiton in silence. As they rounded the Hill and headed towards Bag End, Frodo clasped Iris's hand and stopped her. He reached out to caress her curls in his wounded hand as they stood in the twilight.
"Iris," he said, "I never expected to cause you so much trouble. And I certainly never wanted to inflict my personal thoughts onto anyone. Perhaps we had best stop these walks."
"No Frodo," she said, "don't do this. I'll not allow it. You've made a great breakthrough today, even though you might think it to be a set-back and are embarrassed. Let's continue. You're doing so well. You're getting out a bit now, and I know you've started writing in that book of yours."
"I felt like an idiot today," he confessed. "Rambling on about things. Talking about Gandalf that way. Crying. Iris, this is incredibly embarrassing."
"But do you think it's helping you cope with what happened to you?"
"I do not know. Perhaps."
Iris took his hands in hers and forced him to look her directly in the eyes. "Frodo, sleep on it tonight. Think about how far you've come in such a short time. And practice the deep breathing as you're lying in bed ready for sleep. See if you have a nightmare tonight or not. I'll come over tomorrow morning and we'll decide how to proceed then. Can you promise me you'll do that tonight?"
"Oh, all right," he finally said. "Just for you."
And with that they traveled past Bag End and down into Hobbiton. After dropping Iris off at her house, Frodo climbed back up the little hill and went inside his home. He wasn't hungry, only thirsty, so he skipped both dinner and supper and had a couple of glasses of wine. That night he took a long, hot bath and lay down for sleep. He was exhausted, but sleep would not come easily. His mind kept wondering about where Gandalf was and when he was going to pass over into the West. He wondered if Gandalf would stop by Bag End before he left. Whether it would be best if he himself should also pass into the West along with the Elves and Gandalf. Sleep would be a long-time coming if he could not calm down his mind and stop his stomach from clenching. Then he remembered about the deep breathing and relaxing exercises he had done earlier in the day.
"It certainly couldn't hurt to try," he thought out loud. In about thirty minutes he was asleep.
