A/N---I know I said there was no third chapter to this story, but this
scene popped into my head and wouldn't let go. Grab some tissues. You're
gonna need 'em.
A/N pt 2-----I have absolutely no idea what hobbit funeral customs are, so I made 'em up. However, knowing hobbits in general, I can easily see it being something of an Irish wake, with lots of food, and friends sharing stories of the dearly departed's life, and toasts to his or her memory. I mean really, hobbits will take any excuse to throw a party, right?
**Peppermint Tea**
Long years later, less than an Age but more than just a few decades, Frodo Baggins lay ill in his bed in Tol Eressea. The West had cured the hurts of his soul, but not even the West could cure old age. It could ease the condition, make it less painful, but nothing could make an immortal out of a mortal. Frodo was dying, and he knew it.
He remembered when old Bilbo had died, shortly after they'd arrived here with Gandalf and the others. Somehow, Frodo had expected to have many, many years to spend with his beloved uncle, but that was not to be. Even from the first day, Bilbo ate little, slept much, and seldom went farther out of doors than his front garden. The old hobbit was ever peaceful, ever cheerful, but he seemed to grow more and more pensive as time went on. He talked every day with Frodo, and Gandalf, and Elrond, but the conversations had a melancholy air to them. Bilbo grew more quiet with each passing week, until he mostly just sat in the sun in front of his little home, dozing. One day, less than a year after they'd arrived, the old hobbit simply did not wake from his doze.
Frodo had not expected to have to endure grief here in the West. He was distraught for weeks, to the point where Elrond and Galadriel feared for his sanity. He walked all night, slept all day, ate nothing. This went on until Gandalf decided enough was enough, and went to have a chat with his friend.
"How are you holding up, Frodo?" the wizard asked after inviting himself into Frodo's home one afternoon. The hobbit did not reply. He only turned away to stare sadly out the window.
"I see," said Gandalf, taking Frodo's measure. "You did not expect to hurt here, did you? You did not expect to lose anyone ever again, or suffer for that loss, did you?"
Frodo shook his head, still staring out the window.
"What did you expect, then, when you sailed West with us?" Gandalf asked, turning Frodo to face him.
The hobbit said nothing for a long time. "I expected to be healed. To be happy all the time, forever," he mumbled at last.
"And it never occurred to you that there are some things that cannot be changed? That your uncle was very old, and would not live forever? Or did you think that simply by being here, he might indeed live forever?" the wizard persisted.
Frodo nodded miserably. He knew such thoughts were foolish. Everyone had warned him that going West to heal would not make him immortal. Even Bilbo had told him straight out that he was healed, happy, and ready to die in peace. Frodo heard the words, but did not feel them in his heart. And so he shut himself down again, and undid all the good Tol Eressea had done for him. He felt a tear slip down his face.
Gandalf reached out and gently wiped away the tear. "Frodo, nothing I can say will bring Bilbo back to you. Nothing I can say or do will eliminate the pain you feel at his loss. However, if your remember what death was like in the Shire, if you deal with it the way hobbits have always dealt with it, then perhaps the healing you seek will happen."
"But how can I deal with it the way hobbits always have? I am the only hobbit here! I have no one to share memories of Bilbo with, no one to share in the farewell meal for Bilbo," Frodo protested.
Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at Frodo. "Have you not?" he asked gently.
Frodo blushed. Of course he had people he could share his memories of Bilbo with! Gandalf, Elrond, in fact most of the Rivendell elves had been very good friends with the old hobbit. Frodo gulped, got himself under control and smiled up at Gandalf. "I am afraid I must excuse myself. I have a feast to plan. Would you be so kind as to spread the word?" he said.
Gandalf, of course, agreed. Bilbo's memorial feast was one for the record books, or would have been had there been anyone interested in recording it. The only downside was that Sam had not been there. He'd been upset when he learned old Mr. Bilbo had passed on before he could come West, but not unduly so. Frodo took Sam up to Bilbo's tomb, and they threw themselves a combined Sam's-Welcome, Bilbo's-Memorial-Part-Two feast. That party, too, was one for the record books, even though it consisted of no more than two hobbits and one party-crashing wizard.
All of that was many, many years ago, however. Now, it was Frodo's turn to be pensive and melancholy. He spent many days thinking about the past, both good and bad. The good memories seemed ever bright, and the bad ones dim and distant, but he reexamined them both with equal care. He wanted to carry everything that had made him, him, to wherever it was that hobbit spirits went.
Age and old hurts had weakened Frodo's body. He was not as spry as he used to be. He moved slowly, and often needed help to walk. Sam did the best he could, but he, too, was growing older. The elves had at one point discussed sending one of their number to care for the elderly hobbits, but neither Sam nor Frodo would hear of it. They liked having their little home to themselves. Both hobbits were set in their ways and had no intentions of changing those ways to suit an elf. They were most comfortable with each other. Each knew what the other needed, and how to give it. They'd settled back into their old roles as if the intervening years had never existed. They did not need an elf to muck things up now.
Frodo sighed. He did not want to be abed today. It was a glorious morning, warm and sunny, and he wanted to be outside. But he could not seem to pry himself out of bed, no matter how hard he tried. So he did what he always did. He called for Sam.
It took a few moments for Sam to make his way into his master's bedroom, but he got there. Without being told what was needed, he got Frodo up, helped him dress mostly by staying out of the way, ready to catch him should he fall, and doing up the occasional button, and walked with him out into the front garden. There, both hobbits settled down on the lawn, letting the sun warm their chests.
"It's a lovely day, Mr. Frodo, isn't it?" Sam commented.
"Mmm," Frodo replied. The friends settled into companionable silence for several minutes. They watched the butterflies flittering amoung the dancing elves, smiled when the wind cooled their faces, and just generally enjoyed the day.
Finally, Frodo spoke. "Sam?"
"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo took Sam's hand and looked him in the eyes. "I am very old. Older than you, and very, very tired. I think it is time for me, if not today, then soon. I don't want you to grieve when I am gone. Remember how hobbits mourn our dead. Gandalf will help you."
Sam stared, stunned. "Mr. Frodo! You're not going to........?"
"No, Sam, you should know I would never do a thing like that. Especially not here. But I am old, and I feel the end of my life approaching quickly. I am not sad about it, dear Sam, for I've lived a long life now, and mostly it has been good, barring a few little things," he said with a smile.
Sam could not help but smile, even though tears were building. "But I do not want to be alone, Frodo," he muttered.
"You won't be, dear Sam. I fear to tell you this, but you, too, are nearing the end. I think, when I go, you will not be far behind. It saddens me, but you will be reunited with Rosie, and I with.....well, with everyone. It is nothing to fear, dear Sam. Just be ready."
Sam nodded, wiping his nose. Then he stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. "Are you thirsty, Mr. Frodo? I am," he changed the subject.
Frodo smiled. "Yes, Sam, I am thirsty. Thank you."
Sam disappeared into the house. A little while later, he came out, bearing a tea tray laden with pot, cups, saucers, honey, and what he knew were Mr. Frodo's favorite ginger cookies. He settled back down on the lawn, poured two cups of tea, and handed Mr. Frodo the one with lots of honey.
Frodo inhaled deeply the familiar aroma of peppermint. He smiled at Sam and raised his teacup to propose a toast. "To friends, family, and all we love. May we all meet again."
"To kith and kin, and loving memories," Sam replied.
They spent the remainder of the evening enjoying tea and cookies, and trading tales of the old days. They spoke not of the horrible things, except where they had triumphed over them. Sam described his family to Frodo for the thousandth time. Frodo recalled some of the childhood pranks of Merry and Pippin, and the Sackville-Bagginses. They reminisced about the Shire, and about old Barliman in Bree, and Gondor, and Rivendell, and everything good that they could recall. They discussed the bad times a little bit, but mostly only to remind themselves how good had won in the end.
Then, as the sun was setting, Sam took Frodo's maimed right hand. He kissed the stump of finger lightly. Then he looked his master in the eye and said, "I never said thank you. So, thank you, Mr. Frodo, for everything."
"You're welcome, Sam. But I could not have done anything at all without you. So I thank you, too, dear friend," Frodo replied.
Sam blushed. "Well, I must clean these things up before we attract ants," he said, ignoring the fact that there were no ants on Tol Eressea. "You watch the stars come out for a bit. I'll be back soon."
Sam gathered up the tea things and took them in the house. Frodo lay back, quiet and content. His mind drifted. He brought himself back only when Sam returned. "Everything all clean?" he teased.
"Clean enough for now, Mr. Frodo. Some things can wait, some things can't," Sam replied. He sat down on the grass, gently lifted Frodo's head and settled it in is lap. "There, that's better, isn't it, Mr. Frodo?"
"Much," Frodo murmured. He lay in Sam's lap, relaxed and happy. He closed his eyes. His mind wandered again. The last thing he was truly aware of was Sam's hand stroking his hair, and the faint aftertaste of peppermint tea lingering in his mouth.
"Welcome back, little bee," Primula smiled, arms spread for a hug.
"Momma?" Frodo cried, running into his mother's arms. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me? You said you'd always stay with me, but you left!"
"I did stay, Frodo. I was always there for you, you just couldn't see me. But you could feel me, couldn't you, baby?" Primula said gently.
"I'm not a baby," Frodo protested.
"You will always be my baby, Frodo," Primula insisted.
Frodo knew better than to argue with that. Instead he asked, "How did you get here?"
"We've always been here, son, waiting for you," Drogo said. "Took you long enough, and a much harder route than I'd've liked, but then, you always were headstrong and far too adventurous for your own good."
"Poppy?" Frodo stared. "Does this mean........?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear boy. It happens to the best of us, you know," Bilbo answered.
"Bilbo?" Frodo did not quite know what to say, so he stated the obvious.
Bilbo was prepared for this reaction. He swept his nephew up in a hug. "It's good to see you again, my lad."
"It's good to see you, too, Bilbo. Is there anyone else hanging around I should know about?" Frodo asked. He had a hunch he knew the answer.
Sure enough, he was tackled from behind, thrown down and mercilessly tickled. He squirmed his way out and stood. "I should have known you two miscreants would be here," he said.
"Miscreants? Us? You are talking to the Master and the Thain, you know!" Merry protested.
"Former Master and Former Thain, if we are where I think we are. Where are we, anyway?" Frodo asked.
"We're waiting," Pippin said simply, grinning like mad.
"Waiting for what?" Frodo asked.
"Him," Bilbo replied, pointing downward.
Frodo looked where Bilbo pointed. Dimly, as through a haze, he could see himself, lying peacefully in Sam's lap, while Sam wept over him and stroked his brow. Frodo's heart broke for his friend. He wished he could go comfort him, tell him he was waiting and would wait until they were reunited.
"But you can't," a female voice said, apparently reading his mind.
"Can't what?" Frodo demanded, spinning around to face the speaker.
"You can't comfort Sam. You can't tell him you're waiting for him. All you can do IS wait, and be here, and try to let him feel you when he needs you," Rosie replied.
"She's right, little bee. There are rules here, hard rules, and that's the hardest of all. To know how wonderful it is, and will be, but not to be able to tell those you leave behind. I had to do it to you, my son, and now you must do it to Sam. He'll understand once he gets here," Primula said.
"But when will that be?" Frodo cried. He hated to see Sam suffer. He hated more that he was the cause of this suffering. Again.
"No one knows, my dear boy," Bilbo answered, patting his shoulder.
"Time moves differently here, son," Drogo added. "Before you know it, you'll be together again."
"Though * I * get to greet him first, Mr. Baggins!" Rosie insisted. "You can have the second turn."
"Hey! What about us?" Merry and Pippin protested.
"Oh, you rascals know you'll just jump him like you did Frodo," the Gaffer said, joining the group. He looked down at his son. "Poor little lad. At least he won't suffer long," he commented.
Frodo turned to stare at the Gaffer. "Pardon?"
"Oh, sometimes he knows who's on their way, is all," Rosie said. "But he never tells anyone else, so it's no good trying to tease it out of him. Just be patient. That's all any of us can do."
"Here, my love," Primula changed the subject by handing her son a teacup. "Have some of this while you wait."
Frodo sniffed it. "Peppermint tea?"
"It's good for what ails you, m'boy," Drogo said.
"And it always comforted you when you needed comforting," Primula added.
Frodo sipped his tea. The familiar taste, always associated with comfort and being cared for, soothed him. He found a seat, not wondering where it came from, and settled down to wait for his Sam. Rosie settled down next to him. When Sam came, they would all share peppermint tea.
A/N pt 2-----I have absolutely no idea what hobbit funeral customs are, so I made 'em up. However, knowing hobbits in general, I can easily see it being something of an Irish wake, with lots of food, and friends sharing stories of the dearly departed's life, and toasts to his or her memory. I mean really, hobbits will take any excuse to throw a party, right?
**Peppermint Tea**
Long years later, less than an Age but more than just a few decades, Frodo Baggins lay ill in his bed in Tol Eressea. The West had cured the hurts of his soul, but not even the West could cure old age. It could ease the condition, make it less painful, but nothing could make an immortal out of a mortal. Frodo was dying, and he knew it.
He remembered when old Bilbo had died, shortly after they'd arrived here with Gandalf and the others. Somehow, Frodo had expected to have many, many years to spend with his beloved uncle, but that was not to be. Even from the first day, Bilbo ate little, slept much, and seldom went farther out of doors than his front garden. The old hobbit was ever peaceful, ever cheerful, but he seemed to grow more and more pensive as time went on. He talked every day with Frodo, and Gandalf, and Elrond, but the conversations had a melancholy air to them. Bilbo grew more quiet with each passing week, until he mostly just sat in the sun in front of his little home, dozing. One day, less than a year after they'd arrived, the old hobbit simply did not wake from his doze.
Frodo had not expected to have to endure grief here in the West. He was distraught for weeks, to the point where Elrond and Galadriel feared for his sanity. He walked all night, slept all day, ate nothing. This went on until Gandalf decided enough was enough, and went to have a chat with his friend.
"How are you holding up, Frodo?" the wizard asked after inviting himself into Frodo's home one afternoon. The hobbit did not reply. He only turned away to stare sadly out the window.
"I see," said Gandalf, taking Frodo's measure. "You did not expect to hurt here, did you? You did not expect to lose anyone ever again, or suffer for that loss, did you?"
Frodo shook his head, still staring out the window.
"What did you expect, then, when you sailed West with us?" Gandalf asked, turning Frodo to face him.
The hobbit said nothing for a long time. "I expected to be healed. To be happy all the time, forever," he mumbled at last.
"And it never occurred to you that there are some things that cannot be changed? That your uncle was very old, and would not live forever? Or did you think that simply by being here, he might indeed live forever?" the wizard persisted.
Frodo nodded miserably. He knew such thoughts were foolish. Everyone had warned him that going West to heal would not make him immortal. Even Bilbo had told him straight out that he was healed, happy, and ready to die in peace. Frodo heard the words, but did not feel them in his heart. And so he shut himself down again, and undid all the good Tol Eressea had done for him. He felt a tear slip down his face.
Gandalf reached out and gently wiped away the tear. "Frodo, nothing I can say will bring Bilbo back to you. Nothing I can say or do will eliminate the pain you feel at his loss. However, if your remember what death was like in the Shire, if you deal with it the way hobbits have always dealt with it, then perhaps the healing you seek will happen."
"But how can I deal with it the way hobbits always have? I am the only hobbit here! I have no one to share memories of Bilbo with, no one to share in the farewell meal for Bilbo," Frodo protested.
Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at Frodo. "Have you not?" he asked gently.
Frodo blushed. Of course he had people he could share his memories of Bilbo with! Gandalf, Elrond, in fact most of the Rivendell elves had been very good friends with the old hobbit. Frodo gulped, got himself under control and smiled up at Gandalf. "I am afraid I must excuse myself. I have a feast to plan. Would you be so kind as to spread the word?" he said.
Gandalf, of course, agreed. Bilbo's memorial feast was one for the record books, or would have been had there been anyone interested in recording it. The only downside was that Sam had not been there. He'd been upset when he learned old Mr. Bilbo had passed on before he could come West, but not unduly so. Frodo took Sam up to Bilbo's tomb, and they threw themselves a combined Sam's-Welcome, Bilbo's-Memorial-Part-Two feast. That party, too, was one for the record books, even though it consisted of no more than two hobbits and one party-crashing wizard.
All of that was many, many years ago, however. Now, it was Frodo's turn to be pensive and melancholy. He spent many days thinking about the past, both good and bad. The good memories seemed ever bright, and the bad ones dim and distant, but he reexamined them both with equal care. He wanted to carry everything that had made him, him, to wherever it was that hobbit spirits went.
Age and old hurts had weakened Frodo's body. He was not as spry as he used to be. He moved slowly, and often needed help to walk. Sam did the best he could, but he, too, was growing older. The elves had at one point discussed sending one of their number to care for the elderly hobbits, but neither Sam nor Frodo would hear of it. They liked having their little home to themselves. Both hobbits were set in their ways and had no intentions of changing those ways to suit an elf. They were most comfortable with each other. Each knew what the other needed, and how to give it. They'd settled back into their old roles as if the intervening years had never existed. They did not need an elf to muck things up now.
Frodo sighed. He did not want to be abed today. It was a glorious morning, warm and sunny, and he wanted to be outside. But he could not seem to pry himself out of bed, no matter how hard he tried. So he did what he always did. He called for Sam.
It took a few moments for Sam to make his way into his master's bedroom, but he got there. Without being told what was needed, he got Frodo up, helped him dress mostly by staying out of the way, ready to catch him should he fall, and doing up the occasional button, and walked with him out into the front garden. There, both hobbits settled down on the lawn, letting the sun warm their chests.
"It's a lovely day, Mr. Frodo, isn't it?" Sam commented.
"Mmm," Frodo replied. The friends settled into companionable silence for several minutes. They watched the butterflies flittering amoung the dancing elves, smiled when the wind cooled their faces, and just generally enjoyed the day.
Finally, Frodo spoke. "Sam?"
"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo took Sam's hand and looked him in the eyes. "I am very old. Older than you, and very, very tired. I think it is time for me, if not today, then soon. I don't want you to grieve when I am gone. Remember how hobbits mourn our dead. Gandalf will help you."
Sam stared, stunned. "Mr. Frodo! You're not going to........?"
"No, Sam, you should know I would never do a thing like that. Especially not here. But I am old, and I feel the end of my life approaching quickly. I am not sad about it, dear Sam, for I've lived a long life now, and mostly it has been good, barring a few little things," he said with a smile.
Sam could not help but smile, even though tears were building. "But I do not want to be alone, Frodo," he muttered.
"You won't be, dear Sam. I fear to tell you this, but you, too, are nearing the end. I think, when I go, you will not be far behind. It saddens me, but you will be reunited with Rosie, and I with.....well, with everyone. It is nothing to fear, dear Sam. Just be ready."
Sam nodded, wiping his nose. Then he stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. "Are you thirsty, Mr. Frodo? I am," he changed the subject.
Frodo smiled. "Yes, Sam, I am thirsty. Thank you."
Sam disappeared into the house. A little while later, he came out, bearing a tea tray laden with pot, cups, saucers, honey, and what he knew were Mr. Frodo's favorite ginger cookies. He settled back down on the lawn, poured two cups of tea, and handed Mr. Frodo the one with lots of honey.
Frodo inhaled deeply the familiar aroma of peppermint. He smiled at Sam and raised his teacup to propose a toast. "To friends, family, and all we love. May we all meet again."
"To kith and kin, and loving memories," Sam replied.
They spent the remainder of the evening enjoying tea and cookies, and trading tales of the old days. They spoke not of the horrible things, except where they had triumphed over them. Sam described his family to Frodo for the thousandth time. Frodo recalled some of the childhood pranks of Merry and Pippin, and the Sackville-Bagginses. They reminisced about the Shire, and about old Barliman in Bree, and Gondor, and Rivendell, and everything good that they could recall. They discussed the bad times a little bit, but mostly only to remind themselves how good had won in the end.
Then, as the sun was setting, Sam took Frodo's maimed right hand. He kissed the stump of finger lightly. Then he looked his master in the eye and said, "I never said thank you. So, thank you, Mr. Frodo, for everything."
"You're welcome, Sam. But I could not have done anything at all without you. So I thank you, too, dear friend," Frodo replied.
Sam blushed. "Well, I must clean these things up before we attract ants," he said, ignoring the fact that there were no ants on Tol Eressea. "You watch the stars come out for a bit. I'll be back soon."
Sam gathered up the tea things and took them in the house. Frodo lay back, quiet and content. His mind drifted. He brought himself back only when Sam returned. "Everything all clean?" he teased.
"Clean enough for now, Mr. Frodo. Some things can wait, some things can't," Sam replied. He sat down on the grass, gently lifted Frodo's head and settled it in is lap. "There, that's better, isn't it, Mr. Frodo?"
"Much," Frodo murmured. He lay in Sam's lap, relaxed and happy. He closed his eyes. His mind wandered again. The last thing he was truly aware of was Sam's hand stroking his hair, and the faint aftertaste of peppermint tea lingering in his mouth.
"Welcome back, little bee," Primula smiled, arms spread for a hug.
"Momma?" Frodo cried, running into his mother's arms. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me? You said you'd always stay with me, but you left!"
"I did stay, Frodo. I was always there for you, you just couldn't see me. But you could feel me, couldn't you, baby?" Primula said gently.
"I'm not a baby," Frodo protested.
"You will always be my baby, Frodo," Primula insisted.
Frodo knew better than to argue with that. Instead he asked, "How did you get here?"
"We've always been here, son, waiting for you," Drogo said. "Took you long enough, and a much harder route than I'd've liked, but then, you always were headstrong and far too adventurous for your own good."
"Poppy?" Frodo stared. "Does this mean........?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear boy. It happens to the best of us, you know," Bilbo answered.
"Bilbo?" Frodo did not quite know what to say, so he stated the obvious.
Bilbo was prepared for this reaction. He swept his nephew up in a hug. "It's good to see you again, my lad."
"It's good to see you, too, Bilbo. Is there anyone else hanging around I should know about?" Frodo asked. He had a hunch he knew the answer.
Sure enough, he was tackled from behind, thrown down and mercilessly tickled. He squirmed his way out and stood. "I should have known you two miscreants would be here," he said.
"Miscreants? Us? You are talking to the Master and the Thain, you know!" Merry protested.
"Former Master and Former Thain, if we are where I think we are. Where are we, anyway?" Frodo asked.
"We're waiting," Pippin said simply, grinning like mad.
"Waiting for what?" Frodo asked.
"Him," Bilbo replied, pointing downward.
Frodo looked where Bilbo pointed. Dimly, as through a haze, he could see himself, lying peacefully in Sam's lap, while Sam wept over him and stroked his brow. Frodo's heart broke for his friend. He wished he could go comfort him, tell him he was waiting and would wait until they were reunited.
"But you can't," a female voice said, apparently reading his mind.
"Can't what?" Frodo demanded, spinning around to face the speaker.
"You can't comfort Sam. You can't tell him you're waiting for him. All you can do IS wait, and be here, and try to let him feel you when he needs you," Rosie replied.
"She's right, little bee. There are rules here, hard rules, and that's the hardest of all. To know how wonderful it is, and will be, but not to be able to tell those you leave behind. I had to do it to you, my son, and now you must do it to Sam. He'll understand once he gets here," Primula said.
"But when will that be?" Frodo cried. He hated to see Sam suffer. He hated more that he was the cause of this suffering. Again.
"No one knows, my dear boy," Bilbo answered, patting his shoulder.
"Time moves differently here, son," Drogo added. "Before you know it, you'll be together again."
"Though * I * get to greet him first, Mr. Baggins!" Rosie insisted. "You can have the second turn."
"Hey! What about us?" Merry and Pippin protested.
"Oh, you rascals know you'll just jump him like you did Frodo," the Gaffer said, joining the group. He looked down at his son. "Poor little lad. At least he won't suffer long," he commented.
Frodo turned to stare at the Gaffer. "Pardon?"
"Oh, sometimes he knows who's on their way, is all," Rosie said. "But he never tells anyone else, so it's no good trying to tease it out of him. Just be patient. That's all any of us can do."
"Here, my love," Primula changed the subject by handing her son a teacup. "Have some of this while you wait."
Frodo sniffed it. "Peppermint tea?"
"It's good for what ails you, m'boy," Drogo said.
"And it always comforted you when you needed comforting," Primula added.
Frodo sipped his tea. The familiar taste, always associated with comfort and being cared for, soothed him. He found a seat, not wondering where it came from, and settled down to wait for his Sam. Rosie settled down next to him. When Sam came, they would all share peppermint tea.