Disclaimer: I believe everyone knows the drill. I don't own Middle-earth, nor any of the characters created by Tolkien. I do, however, claim several yet to come in this story, for Tolkien never mentioned such nor wrote about them. I hope he forgives me this.
A/N: I'm glad this has kept your interest. This is not quite the last chapter. Don't worry, I'll let you know when it ends.^^
Being the Eighth Part of . . . .
With The Rising and Setting of Anar
The great Elvish ship docked just as the Sun's last rays were fading into twilight. Seagulls flew high in the sky, searching for their evening meal, either for themselves or their young and screeching in delight when they spied a silver flash beneath the waves.
There was a crowd upon the docks of a fair-haired folk that none had ever seen before, save Galadriel who was of their kin. She was the first to step off the boat and her brethren, who had not seen her since near the dawn of time, greeted her warmly. Elrond followed, tall and regale in his Elvish robes, down upon a land that had haunted his dreams since he was a child. Others came after, including Gandalf and the two small hobbits, one of which was wide-eyed with wonder while the other looked about in sleepy-eyed confusion.
They, too, were greeted in delight.
One Elf in particular, tall and fair to look upon, spying Frodo, approached Gandalf and addressed him in a strong lilting voice.
"Hail, Olórin," he cried and, catching sight of the Elf, Gandalf broke into an unaccustomed smile.
"Well met, Finarfin. Anar has rose and set many times since our last meeting."
"Indeed, it has." The Elf's gaze strayed to Frodo, who looked about him in overwhelming delight, struck speechless by all that presented itself. "Word had come of my daughter's return, so I and a few of my kin wished to meet her on the Shore. There was, however, no mention of the coming of the halfling. Is this he, Olórin, whom I've heard so much about?"
Galadriel stepped forward to stand by her father's side. She looked down at Frodo, who now peered about him as with the knowledge of one who suspects they are the topic of another's conversation. Finally, his own sapphire eyes caught and held those of the she-Elf.
"Yes, Father," she spoke softly, though clearly so all might hear. "This is Frodo, son of Drogo, Bearer and Destroyer of the One Ring to whom the Dark Lord Sauron crafted in the dark caverns of Amon Amarth."
A sudden murmur passed through the crowd and Frodo, glancing about nervously, grasped and held his four-fingered hand. Gandalf placed his own gnarled hand upon the hobbit's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and comfort.
Finarfin smiled kindly. "Welcome, Frodo, son of Drogo, to Valinor. May it bring solace to your heart and peace to your mind."
Frodo dipped his head. "Thank you, Lord Finarfin. This land already eases my weary heart. I should think in a very short time it will come to rest."
"Indeed, I hope it does, young friend. But until time eases your suffering I wish to offer you another balm." At this he looked to the wizard and it seemed to the halfling that something unspoken passed between the two but before the hobbit could say ought, an Elf that slightly reminded Frodo of a friend he had known seemingly an eternity ago stepped forward. Absently, Frodo wondered how Legolas and Gimli faired.
"My Lord," the Elf bowed. "Might I go and fetch Elehín?"
Without hesitation, Finarfin nodded. "Go, and bring Elehín only. There is plenty of time for the others. We mustn't overdo it."
"But," the Elf hesitated, "Niewen . . ."
Finarfin shook his head. "Now is not the time."
The Elf bowed, "My Lord," and turned and raced up the hill, upon a path that led into a deep wood.
"Elehín," Gandalf murmured thoughtfully and chuckled not a moment later. Frodo's eyes fell away from the departing Elf and he looked up at the wizard in curiosity. Finarfin stayed any comments on his part.
"Elehín?" he repeated softly, so as not to draw attention to himself. It was a hopeless wish, however, for those Elves that milled about watched the hobbit with interest and delight, and even with what Frodo thought might be barely suppressed excitement. "Who is Elehín, Gandalf?"
"Is it not obvious?" Gandalf peered down at the halfling.
Frodo paused, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Ele . . . ele . . ." he bit his bottom lip. Bilbo had taught him much of the Elvish tongue, however long ago, and though the word ele was similar to several other Elvish words it was not altogether familiar to him. "Star?" he murmured finally. Several Elves giggled in amusement and Frodo felt his face flush bright. "Star," he whispered quietly, glancing up at the wizard. "And . . . and 'child', I think."
"Hmm," Bilbo murmured sleepily, having fallen asleep on his feet again, but now peered about in blurry-eyed curiosity. "Stars? Stars, did you say?" He shook his head. "No, no stars tonight, the Gaffer tells of a storm acomin'. Frodo my lad, do an old hobbit kind and shutter up all the windows. Wouldn't want my maps getting scattered about, would we?"
"Of course not, Uncle," Frodo said, placing a hand on the Bilbo's shoulder. "I'll take care of it right away, don't you worry none."
"There's a good lad," Bilbo mumbled and his eyes fluttered shut and, with the aid of an Elf's sturdy hand and his cane, he was snoring softly once again.
Frodo turned to the wizard and Elf. "Star-child?"
Finarfin laughed lightly. "Indeed, it would seem to be the case, but alas! I am afraid you are incorrect." Despite his words, the Elf allowed the halfling a look of approval, for rare indeed is the case when one can unravel the mysteries of the Elvish speech, especially that of Valinor, the most ancient tongue in all of Earth.
"Elehín," said Gandalf. "Means 'Behold! A child.' "
Frodo frowned in confusion.
Galadriel knelt beside the hobbit and smiled fondly at him. "Those who have never left the Blessed Realm have never known the Periannath--your people, Frodo. What do you suppose my kin did when a hobbit came across the Sea so many years ago?"
One of the Elves laughed, his eyes filled with a merry memory. "Behold! What comes to us from the East? Not Elf kin, I think, but a child instead!"
Galadriel nodded and Finarfin said, "Elehín."
Frodo looked over at Gandalf, confusion still dancing in his sapphire orbs. But before the wizard could say ought, a voice rang out in excitement and joy.
"Gandalf!" came the clear voice of, unmistakably, a hobbit. Frodo glanced up. A gentlehobbit came down the soft slope, followed closely by the light-haired Elf. "Gandalf, is it truly you?"
"And who else would you perceive it to be, Master Baggins?" Gandalf asked gruffly, but not unkindly. Only several noted Frodo's sharp intake of breath.
Drogo laughed. "So formal, my dear Gandalf? What did you say to me so many years ago, I'd like to know?"
The wizard smiled. "Formalities can be such a tasteless and tiresome burden, I believe."
"Indeed," Drogo agreed, "I believe you said exactly that." He turned and it was then the gentlehobbit spied the speechless Frodo, who stood before Galadriel as one who is in a dream. Drogo smiled in surprised delight, for rare was the case when he saw another of his kin--indeed, he had not seen another hobbit save his wife and those of his own blood for well over forty years.
"Why, who is this delightful chap?" he inquired, quite pleased. He regarded Frodo for a moment and his smile broadened. "A Baggins, I'd say, for you have that look about you." But, as Frodo did not respond, Drogo took it as bad manners on his part and offered an apologetic smile.
"It has been a terribly long time, I'm afraid. Indeed, too long. Forgive my manners, friend. My name is Drogo Baggins," he looked around at all the Elves. "But here I am simply known as Elehín."
Frodo stood there, staring at a hobbit that was in every and all respects a complete stranger. Someone he had never known and yet had always dreamed of knowing. His hands shook and he couldn't quite seem to get a grasp on the spinning world around him. He tried to speak but found no breath. He could not say what he so wanted to.
Father.
Drogo looked at him in concern. "Are you well, my lad?"
Gandalf knelt then, his white robes rustling softly. He placed a large, gnarled hand on the younger Baggins' shoulder and, with a frightened jerk, Frodo's wide, wild eyes found the old man.
"G-Gandalf," he gasped, tears glistening his eyes. "You didn't tell me, you didn't tell me!"
"But I did," was all the wizard said.
Drogo took a hesitant step forward, glancing from Wizard to Hobbit, slow disbelieving realization dawning on his smooth boyish features, a face that had eluded Time, for Time has no power in the Realm of the Guarded. All who dwell in Valinor are immortal. "Gandalf, what is this?" he whispered. "Is this--" he looked at Frodo, then, back at the wizard, "Oh, Ilúvatar, it cannot be." His breath came harsh and he looked all about him desperately, and got his answer in the eyes of those who watched him. He turned to Frodo. The younger hobbit could only watched him.
"Frodo?" Drogo tried, but the name caught in his throat.
Frodo could now see clearly those dark orbs that had escaped him for so long. He saw the face that the only memory he could ever recall of his parents had shown him, though always in his mind's eye the face was faded and hard to make out. Not anymore, though. Never again.
Through the tears, Frodo smiled. "Father," he breathed.
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