Chapter 19 Title: Nightingale Variation Chapter rating: PG-13 (angsty)

"October 20th S.R. 1420"

Frodo carefully wrote the date in his journal. He was in his study having fully recovered from his recent illness. Life had become uncomfortably complicated after the afternoon of the 6th. Iris was the one who finally told Frodo the truth of his actions while he was ill. At first Frodo didn't want to believe he was capable of such violence towards his most beloved friends. But it was there. A great, gaping hole inside him. In his heart he knew what he was capable of doing. The Ring had told him as much while he was carrying It. It lied to him frequently, but this was the truth. Iris said he was not to be held responsible for his actions when he was ill, but he couldn't justify it that way to himself. Frodo considered himself a menace to the Shire. He thought he would be able to become healed by returning home, but that was evidently not true.

"I can no longer put this off," he wrote. The sound of the sharpened goose- feather quill scratching on the parchment reminded him of the sound his own fingernails made against the harsh stone walls of Cirith Ungol. He ignore it.

"I have made up my mind to follow in Bilbo's footsteps. Only I do not have the choice of retreating to Rivendale since the Elves are leaving. I shall leave Middle Earth altogether and seek healing in the West, if healing is to be found. If I stay here I am a danger to everyone, but particularly to those I love. Principally to Rose and the children which are on the way. I will not allow my own need for love to blind me to the violence inside. This time next year I shall join Gandalf and the Elves, and shall sail away. I do this voluntarily, to save what I love. I do not know what awaits me on the shores of Tol Eressea, but my hope lies there. Follow me, if you will, when your time comes. Perhaps we shall be reunited there in peace."

Frodo put down the quill and blotted the ink. He would leave his journal behind, as well as the Red Book on the history of the Ring. The Red Book was for the general public. His journal was extremely private - for Sam's eyes only in the years to come.

It was time to talk to Sam about Cirith Ungol. Frodo was reluctant to discuss what had happened with anyone, but since his confession to Iris and his unconscious actions on the 6th, he felt Sam had a right to know. Frodo wanted to get it out in the open so that Sam would be prepared the next time the Morgul blade illness struck.

Frodo could hear the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. Occasionally female laughter drifted into the study. Rose was in the kitchen. She had invited Iris over to help with the week's baking instead of one of Sam's sisters. Rose had recently learned that Iris liked to bake but found it difficult to only bake for one. Frodo, Sam and Rose had persuaded her to set time aside from her thriving medical practice to simply enjoy being with friends for leisurely activities. And now that Opal was apprenticing the doctor, she didn't feel so guilty when leaving the Office for the day. The lasses were making herbed breads and seed cakes, using some of the goods Ted Sandyman had sent over to Iris. Iris had on her new midnight blue paisley dress. Frodo thought she looked ravishing in it. Iris wasn't so sure, but wore it for him anyway. The matching vest had been cancelled, much to her relief.

The rain had temporarily delayed outdoor harvest activities. Consequently, Sam was inside working. Frodo found him in one of the empty inside bedrooms, sanding down some in-built cabinets. Sam was turning the small back room into a play room suitable for a child. At one time the little room must have been used for such a purpose, but throughout Bilbo and Frodo's occupation of Bag End, the room had been used as a general-purpose storage room. Frodo had given Sam permission to convert any room in the spacious smial into any purpose he and Rose desired, saving his own private bedroom and study.

"Sam?" Frodo rapped politely on the lintel and called.

"Hello Frodo," Sam looked up from his work. "Do you need me for something? You look a little troubled, if you don't mind me being so bold." Sam put down the sanding block.

Frodo sighed and entered the room. "It is time you and I had a private talk. If you have a few minutes, that is?"

"Uh, sure," Sam said, wiping the sawdust off his hands and onto his breeches. "You want to talk in here? I mean, it's pretty far back in the smial and away from everything. If we shut the door the lasses won't overhear nothin'."

Frodo smiled and closed the door behind him. Sam somehow always managed to anticipate what he needed. They sat on a couple of little wooden stools in the otherwise-empty room. "Whatever's on your mind, it must be bloody important," Sam said, trying to lighten Frodo's mood.

"I think it is important to us," Frodo replied. "I can not stop thinking about what happened in Mordor, Sam. Especially after the things I did while ill a couple of weeks ago."

"Mister Frodo," Sam interrupted, "you weren't in your right mind. No one holds you responsible for that day. And nobody got hurt. Now, just push it out o' your mind and let's get back to work." Sam stood up, but Frodo waved him back down.

"Sam, people did get hurt," Frodo insisted. "You may have conveniently forgotten, but I know I bit you. Threatened to castrate you with Sting. And I could have caused Rose to miscarry by throwing her across the study. Thank the stars she is fine, but Sam, I am afraid of myself. Afraid of what I carry around inside my head. I never know when it is likely to come out."

"It don't come out unless you're ill," Sam said. "And as far as I know, you're only ill twice a year. We can handle it. Now that we know what to expect, me and the doc and Rose can anticipate it and handle it before it takes ya. You know - like put ya to sleep with those herbs of hers or somethin'."

"It is not that simple, Sam," Frodo said. "Iris said I should talk about things that happened, things that still bother me, and get them released out of my mind. She says that will lessen the severity of my attacks. I am not sure I understand how it works, but I am willing to try if you are willing to listen. Sam, I need someone to talk to, and you are the only one who would understand."

Sam rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. "Well, Frodo, I don't rightly know if I want to bring up them memories, myself. I mean, I try to forget some things. I don't like the nightmares. And I don't want me Rosie to know some of the things we had to do." Sam looked up at his master, then at the closed door. Frodo just sat there, looking at him. The silence between them was deafening. "All right. I'll try, as long as it stays our secret and Rose never finds out. I can't refuse you nothin' you've set your mind on, and you know it."

Frodo smiled faintly. "The only other person I talk to about this is Iris. As long as you are comfortable knowing that she also is privy to my memories. Is that all right with you?"

Sam nodded. He trusted the doctor to keep secrets. "Might as well start now since you've brung it up and I can tell you're not gonna let it rest. What do ya want to talk about?"

"What happened when I was captured in the tower at Cirith Ungol."

"Sweet stars, Frodo," Sam cleared his tight throat, "you never do anything easy, do ya? Let's not talk about that."

"I need to, Sam," Frodo said, "and so do you, I suspect. Sam - I know it wasn't your fault I was captured. You saved me from more than just the orcs there in that black tower. I was thinking of committing suicide when I heard you singing. I thought I was hallucinating from the .. From .. After they .. After the orcs . After they ." Frodo stared at the floor, clasping his hands together, unconsciously rubbing the stump of his missing finger, suddenly unable to complete the sentence.

"Frodo?" Sam was kneeling at his side. Sam reached out and quieted Frodo's hands in his grip. "After they raped you?"

A tear slid down Frodo's cheek. He couldn't speak, so he nodded.

"I know about that, Mister Frodo," Sam whispered. He was fighting back the tears as well. "I saw what those brutes did with you. I've been kickin' myself for a year now about how slow and stupid I was there in that tower. I left you and I let you down and I can't take it back no matter how hard I try. I'm sorry, Frodo. I'm so sorry I let that happen to you. Please forgive me. Please forgive your Sam." Sam was begging on his knees.

"Sam. Sam," Frodo choked back the tears, "there is nothing to forgive. I would rather have endured ten thousand tortures than have you show up sooner than you did. If you had arrived sooner, you would have been killed or captured along with me, and the Ring would have been taken and our mission would have failed. Some other force was at work that dark day. I hold no grudge against you for being unable to prevent the rape. I am grateful that you found me when you did. And rescued me. And we were reunited. Your singing saved my life. Like a ray of hope in that land of death. You are my hope. You are the true hero of the War. I had lost all hope, but you restored it to me. Your heart never quailed against the evil. You are my rock. Thank you, Sam, for saving me twice now from that torture."

They clung to each other in the small empty room, crying shared tears and shared memories. After a few moments, Sam stood up and wiped his eyes.

"Please Mister Frodo, bury this incident and don't put it into the book," Sam pleaded. "I'm glad it's out in the open and we can put it behind us now. But don't write it into your book. I don't want my children reading stuff like that. I don't want them to go through what we went through, even if it's just in their minds."

"It is important to set down history as it happened," Frodo countered as he wiped his eyes and stood. "But if you write down what you did while I was captured, then I'll only use your actions in the book. We will edit your side of the story together, and I'll let you select what to include in the book. Is that agreeable, Sam?" The two hugged and shook hands on their compromise.

Frodo left and went into his bedroom to wash his tear-stained face. Sam did the same, then returned to the little bedroom. He attacked the shelves with renewed vigor.

The lasses called Frodo and Sam in for dinner - a feast of steak and mushroom pies, glazed carrots and pumpkin, followed by lemon cake with gooseberry preserves. Talk centered around all the goods Ted Sandyman sent to Iris as payment and what his "hidden agenda" could be. Sam teased Iris by saying Ted was obviously trying to court her. Everyone laughed and made up other silly reasons at Ted Sandyman's expense while the dinner dishes were washed and put away.

"We really shouldn't be laughing at poor Teddy Sandyman," Iris said as she dried another plate and handed it to Frodo.

"And why not?" Rose asked. "He certainly doesn't deserve our good will after what he tried to do to you and Sam and Frodo."

"It's just.. Well, I don't think I should be passing on the gossip .." Iris giggled.

"What! Spill it, Iris Proudfoot!" Rose insisted.

"Look, I don't cotton onto gossip, if you please," Sam admonished. "Unless you're certain it's a fact."

"I know it's a fact, Sam," Iris laughed, "since I think one of my young patients is the original cause. I was in the Green Dragon one night having dinner and in walks May Bracegirdle. She's there with a gaggle of her friends and I overheard them:

'Did you hear the news from Bywater? No. Do tell. It's about young Ted Sandyman. The lad that got his fingers caught in the grinding stone? Yes, that's the one. Poor dear. Not having very good luck right now. All his glands are all swollen up. Can't walk or talk or piss without a lot of pain, so they tell me. It won't kill him, mind you. But life is going ta be mighty uncomfortable for him for awhile. Why, that's terrible! Whatever happened? Seems he's somehow caught the mumps. It's a terrible thing to happen to a lad when they're older.'"

Iris snickered. Sam's eyebrows were climbing off his head. Rose stopped washing the dishes and laughed until her sides hurt. Frodo had clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from guffawing, but couldn't stifle a laugh. Finally, even Sam broke down in self-satisfied chuckling.

Sam and Rose settled into the living room for a quiet night of reading and embroidery (respectively). Frodo walked Iris home as the sky turned from rain to a star-filled night.

"I've decided to set the nightingale free," Iris said as they entered into her building through the back door. "It was a nice gesture by Mister Sandyman, but I believe songbirds should not be caged. Would you like to come with me?"

"Certainly. Where are you going to release it?" Frodo asked as they set down the baked goods Rose had sent with them, and picked up the little cloth-draped wooden birdcage. As Frodo removed the cloth, the nightingale chirped then became silent, fluttering around from perch to bar and back to perch.

Iris looked sideways at Frodo with a coy grin on her face. "Beside the banks of the little stream where we made love on the way back from the Wyncots."

Frodo smiled wistfully. "There was a nightingale there that night, if I remember correctly."

"There were two," she said, wrapping her arms about his waist. "One feathered kind who sang for my ears, and one dark-haired hobbit who sang to my heart." She kissed him. He set down the birdcage and kissed her back. She lay her head on his shoulder. He stroked her back, lost in future memories. He would miss her terribly when he was gone. At least he had a year to enjoy her company and love. A year. Only a year. He would need a lifetime to express his love, but he didn't have more than a year.

"Frodo?"

His thoughts were interrupted. "Yes, Iris?"

"Did you ever think of getting married?" She whispered the question into his shoulder.

"Only once, and I do not think she realized my proposal was sincere." He stroked her hair. Her lovely wild curls subdued into a single plat down her back. He loost the ribbon holding her hair, setting the brown tresses free as he combed through the soft locks with his fingers. "I meant it, Iris." He kissed her deeply, hungrily, then pulled back. She was looking into his eyes. They turned sad with regret. "But I cannot make the offer again."

"What keeps you from doing so, love?" she asked. He was hiding something from her, she was certain.

"I cannot keep anything from you, you know," he sighed. "How do you manage to do that to me? What is it about you which drives me senseless? You ask a question and I throw caution to the East wind." He bent down to kiss her lips again, but she interrupted his move by pulling away slightly.

"You haven't answered my question, Frodo Baggins," she admonished. "What makes you think you can't get married?"

He swallowed. "I have to leave," he whispered. "I cannot stay in the Shire much longer."

"Why not? I don't understand."

"Iris," Frodo held her hands, "you saw what happened to me the last time I became ill. I am a danger to those I love. I have to leave." He pulled back from her and looked at the nightingale. "Gandalf and Arwen said I might find healing in the Undying Lands across the Western Seas. I've been given permission to travel there with the Elves when they leave Middle Earth." He turned back to her startled face. "I will not stay and endanger those I love. I will leave next autumn when Gandalf and Lord Elrond come for me. I believe Bilbo will also go with us, if he is still alive. There is no healing for me here in the Shire. I must leave, even if my in-most desire is to remain with you. I cannot stay."

Iris shook her head in frustration, tears welling in her eyes. She walked over to the table and grabbed the birdcage, causing the nightingale to screech in distress. She strode out the back door, across the lawn and into the medical gardens. Frodo followed.

Iris sat down in the shadows under the young willow tree Sam had recently brought in from the North Farthing. She opened the latch and gathered the frightened bird to her bosom, putting the cage aside and stroking the bird into calmness. As Frodo watched, she spread her hands, releasing the songbird into the night. It fluttered away and was not heard from again.