The Leave Taking
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Concerning Untold Events Post-War of the Ring
Written by Ponine and containing excerpts from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, may the hair on his toes never fall out.
Bag End, The Shire, 13 Rethe 1421
Frodo did not get out for breakfast (or elevensies), nor did he even stir seeing as how the hall was silent all morning. It was one of the rare times Sam was at the further corner of Bag End away from Frodo for such a long time, and Sam had assumed that all was well with his master and dutifully set the breakfast table for him. Not that it was any fault of his duties, Frodo thought fondly. Never. In fact, Sam was rather overdoing it. But Rosie was with her first child and expecting anytime soon that month. With a jolt Frodo realized that today could be the big day, and hurriedly swung his feet over the bed. He got no further, as he collapsed onto the floor as soon as his hand left the support of the bedpost.
Lost in his thoughts about Sam and Rosie and the baby, Frodo had dismissed his earlier dizziness as typical morning sickness. After all, he had one too many toasts to Mayor Whitfoot's health the night before, one of the rare times of late Mistress Rose had managed to drag him into attending a Hobbiton social event. His attention now on himself, he became aware of the subtle but doubtlessly real pain in his left shoulder. He glanced in the mirror to find that his colour had drained, and unnatural dark circles had begun to show around his eyes. Not again... not now... not when dear Sam had so much on his mind. Frodo stumbled back to the bed, grasping at furniture to keep himself upright. Though the pain in his shoulder had tripled and his eyes stung with unshed tears, he did not call for help nor seek it beyond his bedroom door. I don't care, he thought. It will pass. Sam's not going to know about it this time, the poor fellow. No one will.
Frodo lay flat where he had fallen on the mattress, every sudden move sending a wave of nausea washing over him. Enough of a burden as I am to Sam and his dear family, I think I shall soon be driven mad myself by all these... fits, he mused. Again thoughts of the Sea came to him, and visions of being happy and whole again in the Undying Lands beyond it. Those which faded in and out with dark memories of a cold, white hand bearing a long, sharp sword blazing like red flame; and the song of a voice far away:
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar! Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!
Now lost to the East is Valinor. Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valinor. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!
He let the tears fall.
20 Halimath 1421
THE DOWNFALL OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS AND THE RETURN OF THE KING
(as seen by the Little People; being the memoirs of Bilbo and Frodo of the Shire, supplemented by the accounts of their friends and the learnings of the Wise)
"Oh look, Mr Frodo!" cried Sam, his heart swelling with pride for his master. "You've practically finished it!"
Frodo smiled and laid Sam's hands on the Red Book, "For my part, anyway. The last chapters are yours."
For a moment Sam was stunned. "I don't follow, begging pardon... do you mean- but I'd have a hard time keeping up with you and Mr Bilbo!" Always the same old Sam, he would never admit that his wisdom and talent was any more than 'plain hobbit sense' or 'me Gaffer's teachings'.
"It cuts off just before- Ithilien... that's a lot more to write, me dear! I mean of course, not as much in pages as you or Mr Bilbo, but reckon I shan't be able to do the last part of this justice. Don't be gettin' me wrong, Mr Frodo... I'm honored! It's just that I think you'd rightly be the one to finish the Book, being the hero and all-"
"Sam, Sam. I think I shall soon get tired of being called the 'hero'."
"But you are, aren't you?" pressed Sam.
"And what did I tell you about calling me Mr Frodo, Mr Samwise?" chided Frodo gently, trying to keep back a chuckle. Yes, definitely the same old Sam, Quest or no. "Whatever the case, I'm not writing any more. You wouldn't want the tale to pass down unfinished, would you?"
"Goodness me, no, Mr- eh... Frodo!"
"Well said, Samwise Gamgee." Frodo placed the Book on Sam's lap and and left him to his thoughts.
Road from the Green Hills, 22 Halimath 1421
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon and East of the Sun.
Frodo fell silent and said no more.
"You've quite taken to singing less than encouraging songs during our travels," said Sam softly. "Hidden paths that run West of the Moon and East of the Sun. What might that mean?"
As if in answer to his question, Sam heard from far away but drawing closer voices that belonged to no man, dwarf or hobbit. At once he was taken deep into memories of times long gone:
"It's getting a bit too dark, Mr Fwodo, Sir!... me Gaffer'll have a thing or two to say about-"
Frodo put a hand over Sam's mouth, his keen young face half-hidden in the ferns and eyes sparkling with delight as they searched the path ahead, "Not to worry, Sam. I'll explain everything to him."
"But there's Mr Bilbo too! Won't 'e-"
"Shh, they're coming this way,"
Sam strained his ears to hear through the odd haircut Mama Bell had just given him, and it seemed to him that he beheld beautiful but sad voices singing far away, and soft light filtering through the trees. Just as Sam was beginning to think that what he saw was for real, the lights passed and vanished from sight.
"What were those, Sir?"
"I don't know... I haven't asked Bilbo, but I think they're faeries. They're the most beautiful creatures in Middle-Earth, I was told."
"Where are they going?"
"Somewhere... to their home far away, I think. And never coming back."
"Leaving here an' never coming back? It don't know, but hearin' that makes me sad..."
"Me too, Sam."
A long pause. The voices faded away and Sam never heard them again for a long time.
"I'd dearly like to know more about them, or even better: meet one, if you get my meaning, Mr Fwodo, Sir!"
"Perhaps we will, Sam. Perhaps we will."
Ah, the first time he, simple Samwise Gamgee of Bagshot Row had a glimpse of the Elves, and though saw or knew not what they rightly were thought them heavenly beings indeed. Ever so often sneaking away from home at night, hiding in the undergrowth with his young master at the borders of the woods to watch out for them. Sam's heart smiled at the memory. The song became clearer:
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!...
Frodo turned to look at Sam, and such love and sorrow was in his gaze that it pierced right into Sam's heart. "What's the matter, Frodo dear?"
Suddenly, it struck him. "Frodo..."
His friend still said nothing, he did not smile but a peaceful light was in his eyes and much care had left his face. He laid his hand on Sam's arm in a comforting manner and waited for the other travelling party to approach.
The Shire, Winterfilth 6, 1421
Merry and Pippin had left Sam at the forked roads to Buckland and Hobbiton on Winterfilth 5. Either nothing seemed to daunt their spirits, or they were hiding their grief extremely well. They were already singing of good food and wine a few ways down the road. Of course, Frodo's leave was hardest on Sam, who was grave and sullen for most of the journey home.
That night Sam reached Bag End just in time for dinner with his family. Mistress Rose was quite grieved to hear that Mr Frodo was never coming back, but the meal ended on a hopeful note, seeing that Frodo had hope of healing over the sea. Little Elanor was put to bed, but Sam and Rosie stayed up a while longer to talk and offer each other comfort. When she had gone, Sam by candlelight made his way to Bilbo's study. With the memory of the previous days' events still fresh in his mind he opened the Red Book and began to write, pouring out his unspoken memories into the bold, dark words. He wrote in the details of his bit of stewed coney which he did for his Master in the fair valley of Ithilien so that he may never forget the rekindled light in Frodo's eyes as he received it, the terror of Shelob and Cirith Ungol over which he spilled many tears, the destruction of the Ring, the scouring of the Shire and its restoration. He spent hours in the study and only paused now and then to eat, sleep and spend time with his Rosie and Elanor, for fear that any other interruption would well disrupt the entire flow of the story. The last chapters were the hardest, for he had to recount his parting with his dear friend and master, perhaps for the last time. He could only imagine what Valinor was, more beautiful, peaceful and greener still than his beloved Shire, though it was hard to do so now with the Lady's gift working its magic on their land. He remembered the fair dream Frodo had told him about in the house of Tom Bombadil.
"That's it and no mistake, a grey curtain of rain it was, a far green country under a swift sunrise." he muttered aloud, and resumed writing until he reached what he liked to think of as the End. It was very late and Sam had been exhausting himself over the past two weeks trying to finish the story before any of it was lost to careless thoughts and time.
Even in his last waking moments, Sam found many a new significance in the final line he wrote: 'Well, I'm back.'
Sam realized (or as the Gaffer put it, saw the brighter side of it) that he no longer regretted his master's departure over the Sea as much. Perhaps it was better for him there after all. And he on the other hand, had his lovely wife and child (and children to come) at home to care for, and perhaps also the rest of the Shire to keep as green, peaceful and beautiful as Frodo had bade him do.
Indeed back to stay he was, as Mr Gandalf said... until his task was done.
Sam laid down his quill and fell into a deep sleep right where he sat at the study table.
End.
Written shortly after the New Year: 1 Afteryule (January) 2003 of the 21st Century
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Concerning Untold Events Post-War of the Ring
Written by Ponine and containing excerpts from The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, may the hair on his toes never fall out.
Bag End, The Shire, 13 Rethe 1421
Frodo did not get out for breakfast (or elevensies), nor did he even stir seeing as how the hall was silent all morning. It was one of the rare times Sam was at the further corner of Bag End away from Frodo for such a long time, and Sam had assumed that all was well with his master and dutifully set the breakfast table for him. Not that it was any fault of his duties, Frodo thought fondly. Never. In fact, Sam was rather overdoing it. But Rosie was with her first child and expecting anytime soon that month. With a jolt Frodo realized that today could be the big day, and hurriedly swung his feet over the bed. He got no further, as he collapsed onto the floor as soon as his hand left the support of the bedpost.
Lost in his thoughts about Sam and Rosie and the baby, Frodo had dismissed his earlier dizziness as typical morning sickness. After all, he had one too many toasts to Mayor Whitfoot's health the night before, one of the rare times of late Mistress Rose had managed to drag him into attending a Hobbiton social event. His attention now on himself, he became aware of the subtle but doubtlessly real pain in his left shoulder. He glanced in the mirror to find that his colour had drained, and unnatural dark circles had begun to show around his eyes. Not again... not now... not when dear Sam had so much on his mind. Frodo stumbled back to the bed, grasping at furniture to keep himself upright. Though the pain in his shoulder had tripled and his eyes stung with unshed tears, he did not call for help nor seek it beyond his bedroom door. I don't care, he thought. It will pass. Sam's not going to know about it this time, the poor fellow. No one will.
Frodo lay flat where he had fallen on the mattress, every sudden move sending a wave of nausea washing over him. Enough of a burden as I am to Sam and his dear family, I think I shall soon be driven mad myself by all these... fits, he mused. Again thoughts of the Sea came to him, and visions of being happy and whole again in the Undying Lands beyond it. Those which faded in and out with dark memories of a cold, white hand bearing a long, sharp sword blazing like red flame; and the song of a voice far away:
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar! Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!
Now lost to the East is Valinor. Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valinor. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!
He let the tears fall.
20 Halimath 1421
THE DOWNFALL OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS AND THE RETURN OF THE KING
(as seen by the Little People; being the memoirs of Bilbo and Frodo of the Shire, supplemented by the accounts of their friends and the learnings of the Wise)
"Oh look, Mr Frodo!" cried Sam, his heart swelling with pride for his master. "You've practically finished it!"
Frodo smiled and laid Sam's hands on the Red Book, "For my part, anyway. The last chapters are yours."
For a moment Sam was stunned. "I don't follow, begging pardon... do you mean- but I'd have a hard time keeping up with you and Mr Bilbo!" Always the same old Sam, he would never admit that his wisdom and talent was any more than 'plain hobbit sense' or 'me Gaffer's teachings'.
"It cuts off just before- Ithilien... that's a lot more to write, me dear! I mean of course, not as much in pages as you or Mr Bilbo, but reckon I shan't be able to do the last part of this justice. Don't be gettin' me wrong, Mr Frodo... I'm honored! It's just that I think you'd rightly be the one to finish the Book, being the hero and all-"
"Sam, Sam. I think I shall soon get tired of being called the 'hero'."
"But you are, aren't you?" pressed Sam.
"And what did I tell you about calling me Mr Frodo, Mr Samwise?" chided Frodo gently, trying to keep back a chuckle. Yes, definitely the same old Sam, Quest or no. "Whatever the case, I'm not writing any more. You wouldn't want the tale to pass down unfinished, would you?"
"Goodness me, no, Mr- eh... Frodo!"
"Well said, Samwise Gamgee." Frodo placed the Book on Sam's lap and and left him to his thoughts.
Road from the Green Hills, 22 Halimath 1421
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon and East of the Sun.
Frodo fell silent and said no more.
"You've quite taken to singing less than encouraging songs during our travels," said Sam softly. "Hidden paths that run West of the Moon and East of the Sun. What might that mean?"
As if in answer to his question, Sam heard from far away but drawing closer voices that belonged to no man, dwarf or hobbit. At once he was taken deep into memories of times long gone:
"It's getting a bit too dark, Mr Fwodo, Sir!... me Gaffer'll have a thing or two to say about-"
Frodo put a hand over Sam's mouth, his keen young face half-hidden in the ferns and eyes sparkling with delight as they searched the path ahead, "Not to worry, Sam. I'll explain everything to him."
"But there's Mr Bilbo too! Won't 'e-"
"Shh, they're coming this way,"
Sam strained his ears to hear through the odd haircut Mama Bell had just given him, and it seemed to him that he beheld beautiful but sad voices singing far away, and soft light filtering through the trees. Just as Sam was beginning to think that what he saw was for real, the lights passed and vanished from sight.
"What were those, Sir?"
"I don't know... I haven't asked Bilbo, but I think they're faeries. They're the most beautiful creatures in Middle-Earth, I was told."
"Where are they going?"
"Somewhere... to their home far away, I think. And never coming back."
"Leaving here an' never coming back? It don't know, but hearin' that makes me sad..."
"Me too, Sam."
A long pause. The voices faded away and Sam never heard them again for a long time.
"I'd dearly like to know more about them, or even better: meet one, if you get my meaning, Mr Fwodo, Sir!"
"Perhaps we will, Sam. Perhaps we will."
Ah, the first time he, simple Samwise Gamgee of Bagshot Row had a glimpse of the Elves, and though saw or knew not what they rightly were thought them heavenly beings indeed. Ever so often sneaking away from home at night, hiding in the undergrowth with his young master at the borders of the woods to watch out for them. Sam's heart smiled at the memory. The song became clearer:
A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath,
Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!...
Frodo turned to look at Sam, and such love and sorrow was in his gaze that it pierced right into Sam's heart. "What's the matter, Frodo dear?"
Suddenly, it struck him. "Frodo..."
His friend still said nothing, he did not smile but a peaceful light was in his eyes and much care had left his face. He laid his hand on Sam's arm in a comforting manner and waited for the other travelling party to approach.
The Shire, Winterfilth 6, 1421
Merry and Pippin had left Sam at the forked roads to Buckland and Hobbiton on Winterfilth 5. Either nothing seemed to daunt their spirits, or they were hiding their grief extremely well. They were already singing of good food and wine a few ways down the road. Of course, Frodo's leave was hardest on Sam, who was grave and sullen for most of the journey home.
That night Sam reached Bag End just in time for dinner with his family. Mistress Rose was quite grieved to hear that Mr Frodo was never coming back, but the meal ended on a hopeful note, seeing that Frodo had hope of healing over the sea. Little Elanor was put to bed, but Sam and Rosie stayed up a while longer to talk and offer each other comfort. When she had gone, Sam by candlelight made his way to Bilbo's study. With the memory of the previous days' events still fresh in his mind he opened the Red Book and began to write, pouring out his unspoken memories into the bold, dark words. He wrote in the details of his bit of stewed coney which he did for his Master in the fair valley of Ithilien so that he may never forget the rekindled light in Frodo's eyes as he received it, the terror of Shelob and Cirith Ungol over which he spilled many tears, the destruction of the Ring, the scouring of the Shire and its restoration. He spent hours in the study and only paused now and then to eat, sleep and spend time with his Rosie and Elanor, for fear that any other interruption would well disrupt the entire flow of the story. The last chapters were the hardest, for he had to recount his parting with his dear friend and master, perhaps for the last time. He could only imagine what Valinor was, more beautiful, peaceful and greener still than his beloved Shire, though it was hard to do so now with the Lady's gift working its magic on their land. He remembered the fair dream Frodo had told him about in the house of Tom Bombadil.
"That's it and no mistake, a grey curtain of rain it was, a far green country under a swift sunrise." he muttered aloud, and resumed writing until he reached what he liked to think of as the End. It was very late and Sam had been exhausting himself over the past two weeks trying to finish the story before any of it was lost to careless thoughts and time.
Even in his last waking moments, Sam found many a new significance in the final line he wrote: 'Well, I'm back.'
Sam realized (or as the Gaffer put it, saw the brighter side of it) that he no longer regretted his master's departure over the Sea as much. Perhaps it was better for him there after all. And he on the other hand, had his lovely wife and child (and children to come) at home to care for, and perhaps also the rest of the Shire to keep as green, peaceful and beautiful as Frodo had bade him do.
Indeed back to stay he was, as Mr Gandalf said... until his task was done.
Sam laid down his quill and fell into a deep sleep right where he sat at the study table.
End.
Written shortly after the New Year: 1 Afteryule (January) 2003 of the 21st Century