A/N: Finally, after almost five months, I have finished this fic! :) So
sorry that it took me as long as it did!
I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this fic, and taken their time to give me feedback, constructive criticism, and encouragement. You're all so kind! :)
Also, I must thank everyone who has read and reviewed the mini-fic I posted last night. I'm so happy you all liked it! :) And, Ancalime, I'm so pleased to hear that you are enjoying my other fics! Thank you for your understanding! :) Your fic, "Frustration", is lovely!
Unfortunately I did not have time to finish chapter 13 of "September" today. :( But, I promise to do my best to finish it early this week and get it uploaded.
All right, I hope you all enjoy the last chapter of this fic: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------
Chapter XVI:
Sam opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the bright morning sun as it shone persistently through the many large windows in Frodo's room. For a moment he gazed up at the high ceiling in wonder, watching the water from the falls dance off of it in steady, rippling patterns. The young gardener breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh October air, lightly scented with the last of the late blooming flowers of summer and the comforting, ageless, unnamable scent that seemed surround all things Elvish.
Suddenly, he bolted upright in bed, realizing that he had somehow fallen asleep during the wee hours of the morning. The events of the previous day rushed back into his mind, in a confused jumble. Waves of relief washed over him as he felt Frodo's warm left hand clasped gently in his own.
"Dear Mister Frodo," Sam thought aloud, "You're lookin' well this morning, if I may say so myself." He smiled, stroking Frodo's dark-brown bangs out of the still-closed eyes.
"Yes, Samwise, indeed he *is* well this morning." Gandalf agreed, taking another puff of his pipe, and blowing out the smoke in the form of a perfectly shaped, blue ring.
Sam chuckled at the sight, pleased to see the Wizard in such good spirits. Gandalf looked more relaxed now than Sam had ever seen him.
The smile on Sam's face faded as quickly as it had come, replaced with a somewhat disappointed look of anxiety, "I thought he would be awake by now. . ." the gardener muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "When will you wake up, dear Master?" he directed the question to Frodo's peacefully resting form.
"In good time, Samwise." Gandalf answered, his voice held reassuring, almost father like, tone. "It was only just last night that the splinter of blade was removed, you must remember. He is still very weary from his ordeal, Sam." Gandalf continued, "Let him rest, he surely needs it."
"I know. . ." Sam shook his head slowly, "It's just that, I wish I knew for sure that he's going to be all right." The Hobbit sighed, "All of the Elves, and you too, keep sayin' he's going to wake up in good time, but I won't believe it until I see his eye's open for myself."
"Do not worry," Gandalf reassured Sam, "Go to breakfast now, Merry and Pippin have already been there nearly half an hour." Gandalf encouraged, raising his eyebrows and grinning slightly. "Frodo will be here when you get back, I promise."
Sam didn't say anything, but he knew that if Merry and Pippin had already been at breakfast for a while, then there might not be much left for him to pick from if he didn't hurry and go claim his share of the food.
"Yes, Mister Gandalf." Sam said quickly, jumping down from Frodo's bed and running for the door. He paused at the entryway, turning back for one last glimpse at his master. Sam looked at Gandalf, his eyes asking a question before his lips could move to do so.
"Yes, yes, I'll be right here when you get back. I won't leave him unattended." The Wizard promised, and turned his attention back to his pipe.
Sam scurried quickly down the main hall, to the dining room where breakfast, or what was left of breakfast, awaited.
Gandalf gazed thoughtfully out of the nearest window, listening to the rhythmic sound of Frodo's breathing mingling with the gentle rush of water coming in from outside. He was pleased that his decisions thus far had proven to be wise ones, and everything had, seemingly, worked out for the best.
Gandalf still found himself amazed, when looking at Frodo's slight form lying peacefully under white linens in the large Elven bed, knowing that it was he-- a small Shire-Hobbit, so naïve and innocent to the ways of the world, who had borne such evil over so great distance and against such odds.
And what a price the dear Hobbit had had to pay, too. It saddened the Wizard to know that Frodo's first real taste of the world had been so perilous and painful for him. And perhaps most tragic of all was the fact that he would never be able to fully recover from the physical wound he had received from the Wraith.
"At least," Gandalf thought, "this is all that will be asked of him. He can return home to live in peace, peace of both body and mind, knowing that the evil which tainted his dear Shire now lies safely in the keeping of the Elves." Gandalf took another draught of his pipe.
The old Wizard sat long in silence, trying to suppress feelings of guilt-- guilt for putting Frodo in such a position in the first place. Though Gandalf felt sure that his decision had been the wisest one, given the circumstances. It was a difficult choice to make, laying so heavy a burden upon one so young, but unfortunately what had been done could not be undone. Frodo's spirit, and the beliefs and values of the Hobbit race, was completely against what had been asked of him. They were a people small of stature and great of heart, no doubt, but to involve themselves in such worldly issues was unheard of. And yet, Frodo had agreed to bear the ring as far as Rivendell. Stranger still was that three loyal companions followed him unquestioningly; largely unaware of the real danger they were all in.
"Why?" Gandalf thought, "Why did he take this on, at my bidding alone?"
The Wizard was sure that he knew the answer to that question. Frodo cared a great deal about the Shire, and given the explanation Gandalf had provided as to why this evil power must be kept from the enemy's hands, it was no wonder that Frodo had agreed to make the journey, no matter what danger he put himself in. But surely, none of the Hobbits could have known the real risk involved.
Gandalf sighed, knowing that second-guessing himself now would not undo the hurts done to these gentle creatures. And yet, he knew that everything happened for a reason, that every event was but a small part of a much larger plan, and that the conclusion of the larger plan was based upon the assemblage of previous events throughout the ages. Everything mattered, no deed-small or large-- went unnoticed, and nothing was unaccounted for at the End.
Frodo stirred beneath the covers, his dark lashes fluttered open to reveal two bright blue eyes. The eyes rose slowly and rested their gaze on the ceiling, in much the same way that Sam's had done earlier. Frodo seemed content for the moment, not to question where he was, or how he had gotten there, but just to enjoy the sight and scent and safety of the valley.
Gandalf sat silently, observing the waking Hobbit. Frodo's eyes were clear, as they should be, as they had always been before. Though the Wizard could not say that Frodo was unchanged: there was something different about the Hobbit, something beneath the dark circles that still lingered beneath his eyes, or the thinness of his face. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Frodo were merely recovering from an illness, not a deadly wound coupled with the stress of a frantic journey to the home of Elrond.
Gandalf continued to regard the Hobbit in silence, and the Hobbit continued to gaze contentedly at the ceiling. For a moment it seemed as though time had stopped altogether, that the Hobbit and Wizard had forgotten their cares.
Gandalf and Frodo, though each unaware of the others presence, preserved that carefree moment in their respective minds and recalled it later, during more turbulent and frightening times, and it served as incentive to keep fighting for what good still remained. The memory itself was a promise of the good that would surely pass safely through those dark times, and emerge into a new world, free from the imminent threat of danger.
THE END
I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this fic, and taken their time to give me feedback, constructive criticism, and encouragement. You're all so kind! :)
Also, I must thank everyone who has read and reviewed the mini-fic I posted last night. I'm so happy you all liked it! :) And, Ancalime, I'm so pleased to hear that you are enjoying my other fics! Thank you for your understanding! :) Your fic, "Frustration", is lovely!
Unfortunately I did not have time to finish chapter 13 of "September" today. :( But, I promise to do my best to finish it early this week and get it uploaded.
All right, I hope you all enjoy the last chapter of this fic: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------
Chapter XVI:
Sam opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the bright morning sun as it shone persistently through the many large windows in Frodo's room. For a moment he gazed up at the high ceiling in wonder, watching the water from the falls dance off of it in steady, rippling patterns. The young gardener breathed in deeply, enjoying the fresh October air, lightly scented with the last of the late blooming flowers of summer and the comforting, ageless, unnamable scent that seemed surround all things Elvish.
Suddenly, he bolted upright in bed, realizing that he had somehow fallen asleep during the wee hours of the morning. The events of the previous day rushed back into his mind, in a confused jumble. Waves of relief washed over him as he felt Frodo's warm left hand clasped gently in his own.
"Dear Mister Frodo," Sam thought aloud, "You're lookin' well this morning, if I may say so myself." He smiled, stroking Frodo's dark-brown bangs out of the still-closed eyes.
"Yes, Samwise, indeed he *is* well this morning." Gandalf agreed, taking another puff of his pipe, and blowing out the smoke in the form of a perfectly shaped, blue ring.
Sam chuckled at the sight, pleased to see the Wizard in such good spirits. Gandalf looked more relaxed now than Sam had ever seen him.
The smile on Sam's face faded as quickly as it had come, replaced with a somewhat disappointed look of anxiety, "I thought he would be awake by now. . ." the gardener muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "When will you wake up, dear Master?" he directed the question to Frodo's peacefully resting form.
"In good time, Samwise." Gandalf answered, his voice held reassuring, almost father like, tone. "It was only just last night that the splinter of blade was removed, you must remember. He is still very weary from his ordeal, Sam." Gandalf continued, "Let him rest, he surely needs it."
"I know. . ." Sam shook his head slowly, "It's just that, I wish I knew for sure that he's going to be all right." The Hobbit sighed, "All of the Elves, and you too, keep sayin' he's going to wake up in good time, but I won't believe it until I see his eye's open for myself."
"Do not worry," Gandalf reassured Sam, "Go to breakfast now, Merry and Pippin have already been there nearly half an hour." Gandalf encouraged, raising his eyebrows and grinning slightly. "Frodo will be here when you get back, I promise."
Sam didn't say anything, but he knew that if Merry and Pippin had already been at breakfast for a while, then there might not be much left for him to pick from if he didn't hurry and go claim his share of the food.
"Yes, Mister Gandalf." Sam said quickly, jumping down from Frodo's bed and running for the door. He paused at the entryway, turning back for one last glimpse at his master. Sam looked at Gandalf, his eyes asking a question before his lips could move to do so.
"Yes, yes, I'll be right here when you get back. I won't leave him unattended." The Wizard promised, and turned his attention back to his pipe.
Sam scurried quickly down the main hall, to the dining room where breakfast, or what was left of breakfast, awaited.
Gandalf gazed thoughtfully out of the nearest window, listening to the rhythmic sound of Frodo's breathing mingling with the gentle rush of water coming in from outside. He was pleased that his decisions thus far had proven to be wise ones, and everything had, seemingly, worked out for the best.
Gandalf still found himself amazed, when looking at Frodo's slight form lying peacefully under white linens in the large Elven bed, knowing that it was he-- a small Shire-Hobbit, so naïve and innocent to the ways of the world, who had borne such evil over so great distance and against such odds.
And what a price the dear Hobbit had had to pay, too. It saddened the Wizard to know that Frodo's first real taste of the world had been so perilous and painful for him. And perhaps most tragic of all was the fact that he would never be able to fully recover from the physical wound he had received from the Wraith.
"At least," Gandalf thought, "this is all that will be asked of him. He can return home to live in peace, peace of both body and mind, knowing that the evil which tainted his dear Shire now lies safely in the keeping of the Elves." Gandalf took another draught of his pipe.
The old Wizard sat long in silence, trying to suppress feelings of guilt-- guilt for putting Frodo in such a position in the first place. Though Gandalf felt sure that his decision had been the wisest one, given the circumstances. It was a difficult choice to make, laying so heavy a burden upon one so young, but unfortunately what had been done could not be undone. Frodo's spirit, and the beliefs and values of the Hobbit race, was completely against what had been asked of him. They were a people small of stature and great of heart, no doubt, but to involve themselves in such worldly issues was unheard of. And yet, Frodo had agreed to bear the ring as far as Rivendell. Stranger still was that three loyal companions followed him unquestioningly; largely unaware of the real danger they were all in.
"Why?" Gandalf thought, "Why did he take this on, at my bidding alone?"
The Wizard was sure that he knew the answer to that question. Frodo cared a great deal about the Shire, and given the explanation Gandalf had provided as to why this evil power must be kept from the enemy's hands, it was no wonder that Frodo had agreed to make the journey, no matter what danger he put himself in. But surely, none of the Hobbits could have known the real risk involved.
Gandalf sighed, knowing that second-guessing himself now would not undo the hurts done to these gentle creatures. And yet, he knew that everything happened for a reason, that every event was but a small part of a much larger plan, and that the conclusion of the larger plan was based upon the assemblage of previous events throughout the ages. Everything mattered, no deed-small or large-- went unnoticed, and nothing was unaccounted for at the End.
Frodo stirred beneath the covers, his dark lashes fluttered open to reveal two bright blue eyes. The eyes rose slowly and rested their gaze on the ceiling, in much the same way that Sam's had done earlier. Frodo seemed content for the moment, not to question where he was, or how he had gotten there, but just to enjoy the sight and scent and safety of the valley.
Gandalf sat silently, observing the waking Hobbit. Frodo's eyes were clear, as they should be, as they had always been before. Though the Wizard could not say that Frodo was unchanged: there was something different about the Hobbit, something beneath the dark circles that still lingered beneath his eyes, or the thinness of his face. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Frodo were merely recovering from an illness, not a deadly wound coupled with the stress of a frantic journey to the home of Elrond.
Gandalf continued to regard the Hobbit in silence, and the Hobbit continued to gaze contentedly at the ceiling. For a moment it seemed as though time had stopped altogether, that the Hobbit and Wizard had forgotten their cares.
Gandalf and Frodo, though each unaware of the others presence, preserved that carefree moment in their respective minds and recalled it later, during more turbulent and frightening times, and it served as incentive to keep fighting for what good still remained. The memory itself was a promise of the good that would surely pass safely through those dark times, and emerge into a new world, free from the imminent threat of danger.
THE END