A Soft Oblivion of All Fears
When we reached his room, I led him inside and sat him down on the bed. He was compliant, slumped on the bed like a confused child. I unbuttoned his weskit and braces quickly. He curled up on his side, and I covered him with a quilt. He reached his right hand out to me and I took it, sinking down to sit on the floor next to the bed. "How do you feel? Are you all right now?" I asked, studying his face. Amidst the dust were clean tear-streaks.
He closed his eyes at my words and took a deep shuddering breath. "No, I am not all right. I haven't been all right for months and I never will be again."
I brought his hand helplessly up to my cheek. Once again, I was at a complete loss. His words from our first meeting came back to me: "..I find myself doubting that things will get better. And fearing that they will get considerably worse." I pressed my lips to his palm, wishing I could kiss away his hurts and heal them as easily as I had Toby's pretend ouchies.
"Do you want to talk about it?'
A shiver shook his slight frame. "That ….place. That…cellar. I stood there and suddenly I was no longer in Brandy Hall, in the Shire. I was in the Tower. A round chamber with stone walls and a wooden floor, dark and oppressive. N-nothing to cover myself with except….rags…filthy rags. And I waited for my death to come through the trapdoor."
His voice sank to a whisper. "I wanted my death to come through the door. Better there than… " He fell silent, closing his eyes. After a minute, he frowned and said, "I'm cold." And then: "I don't understand. How did you get there? Where is Sam? Is he all right?"
I leaned my forehead against the bed, struggling against the despair that wanted to drag me down. Why does he suffer so? "I—I'm giving Sam a break, Frodo. Otherwise, he would wear himself out for worrying about you. Just rest now, love."
He tossed his head, and turned over in the bed. The muscles in his jaw contracted sharply. "But I'm so cold." I touched his left hand where it lay on the mattress. It was fiercely cold, so much that the sensation burned into my fingers with a tingle of pain. I was stunned for an instant, then jumped up to stir up the fire. I found the compresses I'd used once before on the fireplace rack and pulled them down, with short angry movements. Why? Why him? He's done so much, borne so much… The questions in my head beat a staccato counterpoint to my actions.
He thrashed on the bed behind me, and called out, "Sam, close the window, you silly goose! It's forty below in here!" I hurried over to him and placed the first hot compress on his shoulder. His lips were moving but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I left the compress on until it cooled and then changed it for a fresh one. As I worked, I wondered if I should go to the healer. I remembered what I'd seen just a short while ago, and shuddered. This is no mere illness of the body. It's an assault on his spirit that, at its worst, spreads to encompass his body. The healer was a kind person, but still a hobbit who had never left the Shire. What would she think of this illness? I grimaced. The last thing Frodo needed was more gossip about his health and sanity.
He grabbed my wrist when I pressed the compress against his skin, and said clearly, "Sam, you're a marvel! You've got it here?" His eyes were closed as he talked, but I could see them moving in their sockets under the delicate skin of his eyelids. I didn't know what to say, so said nothing. Please let him come back to me, please, please.
"You've got it? Give it to me! Give it to me, at once!" His face was twisted in anger.
I tried to pull away and his grip tightened until I felt pain. "It—it's around your neck, Frodo," I gasped. He groped about his neck until his hand struck the chain and the gem. Tension began draining from his muscles almost imperceptibly and he released me.
I could see fading pink marks on my arm, and I tugged my sleeve down to hide them. My hand was trembling, fine tremors that were nearly unnoticeable. I'm tired. I'm frightened. I don't know what to do. Or who I could ask for help. The tremors traveled up my arm and shoulders. I felt tears stinging across the bridge of my nose. What do I do?
A ripple of discomfort passed over his face and he took a sharp breath. "Stop it, Sam, that hurts. Just let me be for now."
"I'm sorry, love, I'll try to be more careful." I don't know. I can only do what I can…and hope it's enough. I straightened my shoulders and went to make some tea.
When I brought a lukewarm cup back, his eyelids fluttered. "I don't think I can eat anything," he whispered through cracked lips.
"It's just tea, love," I said soothingly. "Are you thirsty? Don't you want something to drink?"
He jerked as if stung and looked at me despairingly. He closed his eyes again and said softly, "I do. I do want something to drink."
"Here, then." I needed to lift him a little so he could swallow comfortably. I slid my arm under his shoulders, noting worriedly how warm he felt. First cold, now heat. How much can his body take? I began to raise him and he flinched. "Don't, please!" he cried. I jerked away involuntarily and he sucked in his breath in a wordless keen that froze my heart. There was pain and sorrow and despair in the sound, but little of the Frodo I knew and loved. I must stay here for him. I must…
He turned onto his back, and began clawing at his left side. He raised red scratches along his ribs, despite his short, chewed fingernails. I caught his poor hands up in mine, one maimed and one half-frozen, and kissed them. "Frodo, Frodo, stop it, you'll hurt yourself," I said with as much authority as I could muster.
His hands jerked in mine and he said plaintively, "It burns. All down my side, it burns and itches and I can't bear it."
"I can help," I told him. "Don't scratch, just wait for a minute." I ran over to the windowsill and grabbed one of the apples sitting on it. It was chilled and I pressed it to his side. He tensed, his hand grabbing at mine. I rolled it around the red marks. His skin was soft, dimpled now with goose flesh, and drawn tight over his hipbone.
He focused on me with a curious look. "That doesn't hurt as I thought it would."
"No, often when things itch, something cold feels good and makes the itch go away."
He went on: "Are you Saradoc's new wife?" I shook my head, and a single tear dripped down my nose and fell on the soft skin I touched. I suddenly felt a little dizzy, as if the man before me had faded into a gentle boy, lost and confused among the Bucklanders. His body was as slight as a youth's. Could I tell the boy to beware of uncles with golden Rings? He tossed his head restlessly. "I don't feel well, auntie," he said softly. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"You're not, dearest."
He frowned, then said, "I don't know you."
That brought a watery smile from me. "Not yet," I replied. "But one day, you'll fall in love with me."
It was suppertime before he remained quiet for any length of time, and not until twilight, when the first stars began flickering in the sky, did his breathing slow and his face ease into a true gentle sleep. I finally gave in to my own fatigue and cuddled up behind him, hoping the worst was past.
At some point in the night, I became aware of him stirring next to me. "Frodo?" I whispered softly. "Are you all right? Are you in pain?"
He slid an arm about my waist sleepily. "Tansy?" he murmured. "Is it nighttime already?"
I stroked his hair, remembering the glory that had suffused each strand. So beautiful… "Yes, and you should rest."
His hand found the lacings of my dress. "Why are you still wearing your clothes?" he asked, more alertly. He went on, not waiting for my answer. "I don't remember what we did today, Tansy. What did we do?"
I hesitated, feeling a superstitious dread that to speak of his illness would cause its return. He started to prop himself on an elbow and fell back with a grunt. "My shoulder is cramping up. And I feel weak. I've been ill today, haven't I?" He fumbled on the bedside table for a candle and lit it. I blinked in the light at him. His eyes were blessedly clear, his face bright with concern.
"Do you remember anything?" I asked him.
He crinkled his brow in thought. "Talking to Merry about… " he glanced over at me, and went on without finishing. "You came back from your walk. We were going to lunch. But first, we went to the kitchen to select a wine for dinner. And…" he trailed off, looking puzzled.
"To the kitchen, yes, " I confirmed. "And then we went to the wine cellar. You remembered something. And you were not well for a time after that."
"To the wine cellar..." he repeated. "And I…I remembered something…"
"Don't let's speak of it," I said urgently. "All's well that ends well."
He held my eyes with his own. "How ill?" he asked quietly.
I knew if I looked away he would immediately see through me. "Not too ill," I said. "You were very tired, and had no energy and no appetite. I brought you back here and you slept the day away."
He closed his eyes meditatively. "I slept? And what else?"
"You were restless," I said. "And there were times you didn't know me. But that's all."
He took a breath. "I'm sorry indeed to be such a burden. I wish I could give you half the care you give me."
That stung me. "You're not a burden, Frodo. Never. And you have given me much care and comfort." I stroked his face gently.
His lips tightened in frustration. "You are in love with a hobbit who cannot even fetch a bottle of wine out of a cellar!"
I rested my head on his stomach, searching for words. I could hear the anguish behind his words. "Wine gives me a headache, anyway," I said, striving for a light tone. I met his eyes evenly. He looked disbelieving. "You heard me correctly, Frodo. I don't care about the blasted wine."
For a moment, neither of us spoke and then his face eased. He reached out and began smoothing my hair back behind my ear. I leaned into the caresses, pushed my cares away. "And there's always ale," I said.
His lips twitched in a tiny smile. Then he pulled me up into his arms and tucked the quilt closer about us. I was yawning from the day's fatigue. He snuffed the candle and we slept.
The next day I could not keep my attention on my sewing. After I ran my needle into my finger twice, I gave it up with an excuse about not feeling well. I think the other ladies were glad to see me go; blood stains fine linen atrociously and is a bad omen for weddings besides. I went to the library on the pretext of looking for a book and just sat in one of the comfortable chairs, lost in thought. I could hear my own voice echoing in my ears, repeating something I'd told Frodo. "I don't think I could ever kill anyone."
I didn't have to think….I knew I could never kill anyone. I could never deliberately send someone from this World, visit on some other innocent the pain that had destroyed me twice over. But was it still killing if it wasn't intentional? I would lift no knife to Frodo's throat but according to the dreams, staying would kill him just as surely. And the person I loved would be gone. Not just far away, over sea. But beyond Arda truly, and out of reach forever.
But to lose him… Oh, I loved him. I loved him so I ached with it, that my day seemed incomplete until I'd seen him at least once. Is your selfishness and desire worth his life? I already knew the answer to that.
"I've developed rather a horror of death." A horror of death? Rather, a hatred. And a horrible cowardly fear. If death took someone from me again, could I survive it? I remembered the dreams and shivered. I got up and paced, and finally left shortly before elevenses. Frodo had developed a taste for Cook's lemon scones; I'd fetch some for him as a treat.
When I returned a little later, he was standing by the table with a letter in his hand.
"Good morning." I put a scone in his hand and he made a noise of appreciation.
"Good morning and thank you." He caught my hand and kissed me lightly. "I've received a letter from Sam."
"Oh?" He seemed more somber than I would have expected if he'd heard from Sam. I stirred some sugar into a cup of tea. "Is everything all right?"
He sat down next to me. "Yes, but he wonders why I've extended my stay. He is traveling close to this area in two days and offers to travel with me back to Bag End." My hand tightened on my cup, and I set it slowly down. He continued, with a quick look at me, brows slightly drawn together. "It will be difficult to get off on short notice, but I think it would be best."
"You're leaving?" I asked numbly. "But Frodo, why?"
He put his arms around me and pulled me close. "Several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I'll ruin your reputation if I stay." He stilled my barely begun-protests with a finger across my lips. "And I have things to see to in Bag End, as well. I've been away a month, after all. I'll be back shortly, however, and you and I will make our arrangements. You said you wished our betrothal were finalized. It can be, then. All proper and legal."
"But, Frodo," I argued. "You'll miss your birthday. Only three days from now! You know Merry has planned a dinner party and—"
"I know, and I would not miss it—except Sam asks this of me. He has asked me for very little, but he is concerned now. And I need to talk to him."
"Frodo…." I bit my lip hard. "Are there any other reasons?" He was silent, stroking my hair soothingly. I straightened and looked at him. "If there's more, I'd like you to tell me." Perhaps he'd tired of me and merely sought a non-confrontational escape.
He sighed and shook his head. "I will admit I want to be at Bag End for the first week of October. I think familiar surroundings will help…."
I felt a chill pass over me. "You'll be ill on October sixth, you said."
"Yes," he agreed reluctantly.
"But you'll have no one to look after you! You must stay here and let me—"
"No, Tansy," he said. "It will be easier for me there. And I will have Sam and his wife Rosie, and they'll look after me quite well."
I wanted to cry in my distress. "Then I'll come with you to Bag End. For a visit. That's not completely unknown, after all."
He put one finger under my chin and tilted my face up to his. "No," he said firmly. "It's impossible for us to travel together, much less stay at Bag End. For a bachelor and a widow, anyway. This is the best option, indeed the only one." Tears sprang to my eyes and his face softened. "Here, sweet, don't be upset. I'll return as soon as I'm well enough to travel."
I toyed with the buttons on his weskit. It's not fair, I cried to myself. I pushed against him so that we slid sideways on the divan. Spreading his collar with my hand, I leaned forward and began kissing his neck, tasting him. His skin was a warmer ivory now, after all the time we'd spent outside. "You'll return?" I asked him, my words muffled against his skin.
He tipped his head back a little, stretching out fully. "As soon as I'm able," he said softly. I could feel the vibrations of his words in my lips. I began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Perhaps loving him now would make the parting easier to bear. A voice spoke up in my mind. Release him? Fool! You can't even let him go home for a month! My eyes began stinging again, and I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away.
I spread his shirt apart, revealing his down-soft skin. He is so beautiful. He shifted on the divan and brought my lips to his, barely brushing them at first. I nibbled teasingly along his lower lip, and traced the upper with little flicks of my tongue. The world began to fade away until nothing except the sensations of his lips and body under mine seemed important.
He slid his hands up my back, finding the laces and undoing them deftly. When he'd finished, I straightened up and pulled my dress off briskly. I looked down at him. His eyes were glittering brightly, and his lips parted, almost chafed-seeming. So beautiful… He raised himself on one elbow to slide his shirt off. Shifting downward, I kissed the skin of his belly deliberately. He froze in position, his shirt a pool of white linen around his elbows. I ran my lips caressingly over his flesh. His muscles tightened and I felt it against my mouth. I dipped my tongue into his navel, circling it and then moved down until I reached his waistband.
He inhaled sharply and pulled me up to his mouth. He kissed me hard, once, then pulled my chemise over my head. I lay back in his arms after he dropped it on the floor. He leaned over me to kiss me again, his dark curls spilling across his forehead and into his eyes. I heard him breathing in quick little pants and I pulled the encumbering breeches down.
"Ohhhh…" I moaned softly as he lowered his body to mine. He breathed out slowly; then we both were still for a moment, content to be joined. The intensity of the sensation made me writhe with tension. I opened my eyes to see him, to imprint this moment on my soul, and his beauty was like a knife to my heart. The curling tendrils of his hair were damp and stuck to his forehead, and trickles of perspiration had run down his cheeks. His skin was flushed. "Love," I gasped. "My love, oh my love.."
His eyebrows drew together at my words. He dropped his head and pressed his lips to mine. "Yes, my love," he whispered against my mouth, into my mouth. "My love." My mind spun, consumed by the pleasure in my body and his words in my ears. I cried out his name, twining my hands into his hair and hearing him, tasting him in my mouth, until I was lost and all that was left was pleasure. I heard him cry out above me and he fell into my arms.
The tension eased out of me in a long slow rush, leaving me tingling. Frodo's shoulders were trembling; his head resting on my shoulder. My heart was still pounding, although beginning to slow. I ran my hands down his back, to his thighs, tracing his body. I fell into a sort of reverie, listening to his breathing, and feeling his skin. After a time, he turned his head toward me. His eyes were closed, but he took one of my hands and brought it to his lips and kissed it. His body was limp and heavy and warm, and completely relaxed. As I watched him slip into sleep, all the thoughts I'd tried to keep at bay earlier came storming back.
"I've developed rather a horror of death. I don't think I could ever kill anyone."
Would you let your love for him sentence him to death? Would you do that?
But I wanted more time with him.
You don't know when the Elves will sail. And he must be on that ship.
I'll wait until he returns from Bag End, then.
Would you wait until you're wed? Do you think he would leave you then? What if…when you get with child? Could you ever convince him to go?
No…no. But still I love him so… My thoughts dissolved into silent tears, scalding and bitter.
The tears finally passed, and I felt a fragile peace steal over me. I pressed my cheek against his curls and gave myself up to sleep, as well.
When I woke, it was afternoon. He was still sleeping. After I dressed, I propped myself on my elbows and watched him. I was so full of emotion I could not contain it all, as if I were drowning in his light.
That was the last time.
I traced my fingers over his face gently. The softness of his eyebrows, the line of his nose. Frodo. The smooth expanse of his brow, pale and perfect. His lips, full and relaxed and as soft as down. If I kissed him, I would feel him stir, then his lips would open and move gently under mine. Loving me, welcoming me.
I must remember him.
His eyelashes were dark against his cheeks, a raven band of shadow outlining his eyes. The skin of his neck was satin-soft and fragrant with his warm sleepy smell. The curls of his hair were subtly disarranged, their disorder only emphasizing the beauty of his face and form.
Remember me, my love.
I couldn't look at him any longer. It was too much to see him and know what I had to do. I got up from the bed and went to sit before the fire. I traced the pattern on the rug with my fingers, remembering sitting here, loving here. It was worth it.
I heard him turn in the bed and I watched as he reached out for me and found only emptiness. The sight stabbed me to the heart, and my resolution wavered. Health and long life? I chided myself. Do you want that for him? Decide that first, and then the rest becomes very easy, isn't it?
He opened his eyes. "Tansy, there you are," he said, smiling drowsily. Seeing the look on my face, his eyes widened abruptly. "What is it?"
I could not put this off, much as I wanted to. I would tear myself to pieces and have done with it. "I talked to Opal and Dahlia," I said slowly. "And I've done some thinking."
He sat up in bed and reached for his dressing gown, shrugging it on. Say it, Tansy. I opened my mouth and found my voice gone. I cleared my throat once, twice, and finally said, "I can't marry you." The words fell onto my ears with the dull thud of a closing coffin. Four little words…
He looked stunned, his hand opening and closing absently. "What?" I tore my gaze away from him and stared down at my fingers, lacing them together. First finger, second, ring finger, little. Just like in the children's rhyme, line them up. The song began tinkling absurdly in the back of my mind. Line them up, two by two, two by two, line them up.
"I—I—" My voice was shaking. I steadied it carefully and went on. "I will not marry you."
I heard him get up and walk over to stand before me. Through a blur of tears, I stared at his feet. "Tansy, I don't understand. Does this have to with my trip home?"
I put one hand over my eyes to wipe my tears away. I didn't want him to see how much this hurt. "No, not at all. It's just—Frodo, you don't love me." I looked up at him and saw his face tighten.
He knelt down and took my hands between his. "But I do love you…as much as I can. I don't know what else to say. I won't lie to you, Tansy. There are times I'm not sure what is left for me. Or in me. I've never tried to hide that from you. But I know you…" He didn't finish his sentence but we both knew what it was. But I know you love me.
Walk them out, one by one, one by one, walk them out. "You're meant to go into the West. With the Elven Ring-bearers when they take ship. And Bilbo. And finally be healed of your wounds."
He squeezed my hands tightly. "I knew I would regret telling you that. Meant? What does that mean, in the end? Am I not allowed some of the choices in my life?"
"I don't know," I whispered.
"It's not what I wish. I missed the Shire when I was away. I want a simple life again. To make you happy…and be happy myself in return."
I closed my eyes against the gentle persuasion in his voice. I wanted to give in to him so badly; I was trembling with it. Later, we could laugh at my pre-wedding jitters. "Do you want to die then?"
"All mortals die."
Marry them off, till we're done, till we're done, marry them off. "Stop it, Frodo! You can see ahead, I know you can. I don't want you to die, Frodo. Not if there is something I could do to prevent it."
"There is nothing you can do to prevent it, Tansy. And who's to say where my death would come quickest? Here or there?"
I can, unfortunately. That damned jewel…He could have one year or a hundred, and which do I want? I can't heal him. If only I could… I stared down at his hands, stroking mine gently, comfortingly. I can't say it to him.
A cool interior voice answered relentlessly: Do you want him to live? Do you?
Hating myself, I finally managed to whisper, "Do you truly believe you cannot know where your death would come quickest?" My fears were immediately confirmed when he dropped his eyes to our joined hands. I had to wipe my eyes again before continuing. "You're dying, Frodo. Sweet lady of light, I wish it weren't so, but you are, and I have seen it."
Odd man out, all alone, all alone, odd man out. He was silent, staring at the floor. I struggled to finish my words before I broke down. "Frodo, I love you so and I can't face your death. I can't. To know you stayed and died to be with me—it would kill me, my love. I would have to die with you, I couldn't bear it otherwise."
He looked up, his face under rigid control. "It's not fate," he said softly. "Dreams, visions, sometimes that is all they are. And like the morning mist that fades by noon, sometimes they melt into the present and you realize that's all they ever were. Just mists…dreams."
"And what did you see when you looked at me in the cellar, Frodo?" The gentle motion of his hands on mine ceased. His face was quiet, his eyes suddenly as blank and bleak as a February sky. He rocked back on his heels, not answering.
"You saw my death, didn't you? That was why you were so horrified and distraught."
He hesitated a moment, and then shook his head firmly. "That's not what I saw, Tansy."
"But you have seen things, haven't you?"
The sorrow on his face broke my heart. "Yes."
"And if you stay in the Shire?" I whispered through numb lips.
He slumped, and closed his eyes. "Yes. I am dying, will die."
"I saw it when I picked Arwen's gem up. I could see it, I could see you, and you were more beautiful than anything I've ever seen, ever even dreamed of…you can't be lost to the World, you just can't." I was sobbing now, despite all my efforts to stay calm. "I won't, I won't let you die."
He pulled me to him and I cried into his shoulder. Pick a partner, and you're gone, and you're gone, pick your partner. Even through my tears I was aware of the feel of his arms about me, the warm tension of his body along mine. We sank down until we were half lying on the rug, pressed as tightly together as we could manage. I felt his breath catch and heard him speaking.
"I knew, I knew I would die but I didn't care. An end to sorrow and pain, I thought, and why not here in the Shire? It seemed appropriate."
"Frodo…" Oh, my love…you deserve so much more…
"And then that day in the cemetery—"
"You were so beautiful," I said.
He straightened up, looking at me intently. "I'd been pitied, cared for, worried over but no one had gotten angry at me in so long. I felt…normal suddenly. Or as if I could be."
"Yes." I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to him. He watched me move away from him, rubbing the scar over the absent finger.
"If nothing else had happened, I would have loved you for that, Tansy." He stopped again and passed a hand over his eyes, a spasm of grief constricting his face. "I release you then."
I couldn't speak, so I picked his hand up and kissed it. I kissed each finger on his poor maimed hand, wishing for something, anything, so that I didn't have to let him go. He stroked my hair gently, and kissed my cheek when I finished. "Don't cry, Tansy. It's all right."
"I wish—"
"I know. I do, too."
I breathed in very slowly. "Promise me…"
He half-smiled. "Why am I unsurprised at this?"
"I—I want to know you'll heal. Please, I need to know it. Promise me you'll do as you're meant. Peace, Frodo. Healing and long life," I hesitated, and finished softly, "and perhaps love."
He looked away for an instant, but when he turned his face back to mine, it was calm. "I'll do my best."
I was struggling to get to my feet when he spoke again. "I didn't see your death, Tansy. I saw you alive and happy."
It took me a minute to digest this. "But your face…"
He was staring sightlessly into the fire. "With a child tugging on your hand." I started and he swallowed hard. "Not my child, though."
"Frodo.." What could I say? Oh, my love, you deserved so much more than what you've gotten. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg him to stay. I wanted to spend my life making up for every hurt the world had visited on him. But instead, I got up and walked out of his room. I didn't look back at him, sitting there by the fire. I couldn't.
Mentha came by the next morning to tell me about Frodo rising early and announcing his intention to return to Bag End immediately. She looked me over curiously, and said eventually, "Did you argue? Quarrels can be mended, you know. Why, Everard and I fight like the dickens sometimes."
It hurt to speak of him, even to just mouth my pre-thought excuses. "No, Mentha. But I can't….simply can't marry another wanderer. I don't want to hurt so again. I won't put myself through it."
She looked sympathetic. "You poor thing! No wonder, dear, and no blame to you, if I say so myself. The Bagginses seem rather a restless bunch."
"When is he leaving?" I asked, biting my lip.
She glanced out the window. "Left just a quarter of hour ago, I would say. Why?" She grabbed my arm as I made to leave. "Tansy?"
"I want to see him once more, Mentha," I said softly. She hesitated and then nodded, letting me go.
Once outside, I ran as fast as I could for the Road. On a pony, Frodo would be far ahead of me already, but I did not want to catch up to him. A close-by hill looked a long ways west. When I reached it, I scrambled up as quickly as I could, ripping my dress on a bramble and skinning my knees when I fell.
I looked west and saw him. Far away, a tiny figure on a toy pony, riding, riding, away from me and from the Shire. What if you've made a mistake? Sent him away to live the last year or two of his life alone, among strangers?
"Frodo!" I called, as if he could hear me. I reached out to that small figure, alone on the Road. "Frodo." My eyes blurred with tears and I blinked them away rapidly.
No, there's Bilbo. And Gandalf. Someday Sam, as well.
I began speaking louder, as if to drive away the pain. "Well met and fair journey, Frodo Baggins. Find your peace at last. Long life and health…And love, my sweet… Love to ease your days and warm your nights. I've loved you as much as I could, and I will not allow…." I stopped a moment, nearly choking on my tears.
I took a deep breath and finished fiercely. "I will not allow myself to regret giving you up. You'll go into the West and be healed. You were not mine." I sank down to the turf and closed my eyes, letting the tears trickle down my cheeks. "Goodbye, my love," I whispered.
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