CHAPTER 9 – Sunset
For those interested in story construction . . . this chapter is built around a role-play between Elwen and Frodo Baggins of Bag End.
Elrond had taken up his station at Frodo's bunk once more. As soon as he awoke he had returned to the cabin, now refusing all offers to relieve him of his vigil. It was clear to him that a crisis was near and he would let no one else take the responsibility of seeing Frodo through it to whatever lay upon the other side. Leaning forward, he blotted the pale features with a damp cloth as he sensed the first stirrings of consciousness returning.
Gandalf had left only half an hour ago, the ancient wizard a silent and welcome support after the befuddled and drowsing Bilbo. Frodo's uncle had insisted on sitting vigil for some hours, aware at last that something was very wrong with his heir, but still having difficulty understanding how the situation had occurred. He seemed convinced that Elrond would be able to simply pull out some magical vial of liquid and make it all come right. The healer sighed, wishing it were so.
The golden rays of a late afternoon sun strayed through the small porthole, giving Frodo's face a false warmth of colour and, noting the dark brows draw together in a frown, Elrond moved his chair so that his shadow fell across his charge's face. The frown faded, although the elf could see the beginnings of permanent lines on the young hobbit's face. He stroked his fingers across the faint creases on the pale brow. The lines on mortal faces had always fascinated, but it saddened him to touch the evidence of so much pain in so few years of life and he hid the disturbing sight away beneath a folded compress.
Yet even this gentle, feather-light touch did not escape the tiny hobbit's attention: waking, he stirred weakly, breath quickening as the heavy eyelashes fluttered against waxen cheekbones. Slowly the blue eyes opened, seeking some familiar point of reference as Frodo blinked uncertainly, confusion in his gaze.
"Good evening, Frodo. How are you feeling now?" Even as he asked the question, Elrond was not hopeful of the answer. Would he manage to help Frodo to hold fast to life until they reached the virtue of the Undying Land? Even the name of that land taunted Elrond now.
"Thirsty. . .so thirsty. . . ."
Answering half as one in sleep, or in some daze, Frodo suddenly shifted restlessly, attempting to sit up, the effort causing him to blanch as he struggled to succeed. There was an odd desperation to his attempt, his brow furrowing back into a slight frown as the compress slipped. Firm but gentle hands caught both hobbit and compress although the healer made no attempt to force Frodo back into his pillows.
"What is it? I can give you something to drink Little One, but you should rest."
"I-I-I think that. . .that place in the rocks, a. . .a little way b-back. . . . We c-could. . .refill the b-bottles again. . . ."
Frodo's back was wet with perspiration, his clothing soaked through with icy sweat and his speech faded to an intent murmur, blue eyes darkening as he struggled against Elrond's gentle touch.
"Come on - I'm all right, really - I - I just n-need some more water and. . .and a few minutes' rest. . . ."
"We have water, Frodo. Here..." Elrond touched a cup to the little hobbit's lips, trying to soothe him until the confusion faded. It was a symptom with which he was all to familiar in those reaching the last fading chorus of their song. "Rest for a little while longer. You need not hurry."
The water had an immediate effect: Frodo drank as one parched, putting both hands around the cup Elrond held, sipping greedily at the cool liquid. Within his breast, the elf's heart ached as he watched the delicate and sparkling vision that was Frodo Baggins, nephew to Bilbo, fading like a fine silken tapestry hung too long in the strong sun.
"We'll. . .we'll need to. . .fill up again before. . .before we go on. . . . I-I was. . .was shown maps in. . .in Rivendell. . .but. . .I don't know. . . ."
"Do not worry about the water, Little One. We have plenty. Sip it more slowly. There is plenty of time." The words were murmured softly, Elrond's voice warm and compassionate. "Your task is completed and you can rest here. You are safe."
The voice finally took effect, and Frodo suddenly folded against his caregiver, sinking against the elven lord and slowing his sips just a little. After a moment, the blue eyes gazed back up at Elrond's ageless features, more weary than bemused.
"That's. . .that's right, isn't it? I. . .I don't know what I thought. . . ." He continued to drink steadily, draining the cup in parched mouthfuls.
"You were dreaming, perhaps," Elrond soothed. He settled on the edge of the bunk, supporting Frodo against him as he put the empty cup aside and lifted a small alabaster bottle. "Time for a little more medicine."
Groaning, Frodo started to shake his head, but stopped the motion at once, thinking better of it as his world began to spin. "No. . .please, no more medicine. . . . Can't I have a little more to. . .to drink, please? I'd rather have something to drink. . . ."
"It is a tincture of lily of the valley and it will strengthen you. I have given it to you before . . . Please take it." The elven healer found it more difficult than he had ever known to keep concern from tingeing his voice.
"The Lady Galadriel has left a berry cordial for you if you would like some afterwards to cover the taste."
"No sedative?" Frodo's weakening resolve evidenced itself in his voice, and he eyed his caregiver less warily now, the offer seeming to calm him a little. "I'd . . .I'd like that cordial . . .please . . . I'd take it for that, so long as . . .no sedative. Don't . . .want to lose . . .any more . . .hours . . .than I must"
Golden beams of sunlight scrambled obliquely over the rim of the porthole, dipping and rising upon the wall above Frodo's bunk, moving higher with each minute that passed. They gave no warmth to the Ringbearer's features now though, and Elrond touched the tiny bottle to lips too pale.
"No sedative, Frodo. And after the cordial I will bathe you and carry you up on deck to watch the sunset if you wish. This will be special evening for with the dawn we reach our destination."
"That sounds wonderful . . .I should like that . . .please . . .if you don't mind."
Prompt compliance: Frodo sipped weakly, swallowing the medicine with a slight grimace . . .but he nearly choked, wincing a little, the swallowing motion seeming to half-weaken at the last moment. A large but gentle hand rubbed his back and Elrond waited for Frodo to recover before offering the cup of golden liquid.
"Ready?" he asked. "It is a cordial made from the orgilia berry that grows only in the woods of Lothlorien."
A tiny nod . . .and Frodo sipped slowly, his throat moving weakly as he drank, smiling a little at the taste.
"Mmmmmmm . . .oh, this is what she gave us . . .what . . .what Haldir brought . . .from her . . .that first night . . .when I was . . .so tired . . .and we were all so . . .still grieving . . .about . . .Gandalf . . . She remembered . . . I liked it."
Elrond's hand moved from Frodo's back so that he was supported now by the elf's arm and soft fingers rested against the perspiration slicked throat, moving to aid when needed. Elrond's smile mirrored Frodo's, his voice growing wistful.
"It was Celebrian's favourite too. Whenever anyone travelled to Lothlorien from Imladris she would make them promise to bring some back with them."
"I would . . .like very much . . .to . . .meet her." Frodo's voice was faint, though he smiled a little, taking careful sips with Elrond's assistance. "She sounds . . .very special, and . . .and everyone has . . .said that we . . .we might enjoy . . .meeting."
"I think she would understand your trials, for she too was wounded beyond help in Middle Earth and came West to find healing. I have always hoped that she found it although no word comes from the West to Middle Earth so I have only that hope. But I believe I would know if she did not."
"I am sure you would . . .you would feel it." The hobbit swallowed the last mouthful, though not without difficulty, and settled against his caregiver's arm, snuggling weakly. He shivered, yet continued to sweat; a fresh sheen of icy perspiration glimmering on his features.
"Half of me wants . . . to push the covers off . . . and half to pull them up," he managed at last, forcing a tremulous laugh.
"You are quite weak . . . the storm . . . Perhaps if I bathe you with warm water . . . and then take you for some fresh air it will make you feel a little better."
Putting down the empty cup, the healer pushed back damp curls from Frodo's brow as he supported him easily with his other arm. It was fortunate that the little hobbit did not look up at that moment for ancient eyes were filled with sadness as the healer noted one more unravelling thread in the tapestry of Frodo's life.
"Thank you . . .yes, I . . .I was afraid of . . .of waking up to . . .more of . . .of that." Frodo's voice grew faint, and he shuddered. "I don't think I could . . .could bear being so sick again just now."
"The seas will be calm here for we are coming within the influence of the Blessed Realm. There will be no more storms . . . already the swell has diminished."
Snuggling against Elrond's arm, the Ringbearer sighed, looking even smaller. Suddenly he blinked, eyebrows shifting slightly as he looked up at Elrond curiously.
"Please . . .do you think it might be possible for . . .for me to have a drop of . . .just a little apple juice? Not now, but . . .when we go up? While we watch the last sunset? At . . .when I was in Rivendell, both times, I used to have that . . .every evening . . .as I did at home, before . . .warmed apple juice with cinnamon . . .or mulled cider."
"Warmed apple juice with cinnamon? I am sure I can arrange that," Elrond smiled down at him, hiding his grief behind grey eyes as warm as a summer shower. "Let me get that water ready and give someone instructions for your drink."
He lowered Frodo back into his pillows and crossed to the door where one of Lady Galadriel's people had been stationed in case anything was needed. Returning to the bedside Elrond filled a basin with warm water, adding a few drops of oil of sandalwood and some athelas.
The fragrance filled the cabin, and Frodo sighed comfortably, settling into the pillows. His tiny lips seemed slightly tinged with a hint of blue, in keeping with the dusky cast beginning to replace his pallor.
"Thank you . . .that's . . .my favourite." For a moment, the heavy fringe of eyelashes fluttered, as if Frodo's eyes might close, but he looked up at Elrond, watching quietly for some minutes before speaking again.
"Bilbo will . . .be all right now, won't he? He'll . . .have some peace . . .I mean, and . . .and die a very free, very old hobbit?"
"He will, indeed. He will be cared for as he was in Rivendell and all remaining shadow of the Ring will be washed away, I promise you." Nimble fingers unfastened the buttons of Frodo's nightshirt and then eased him out of the damp linen.
"Good."
"Would you like me send word for him to join us on deck later?"
"Yes . . .yes, please . . .I would like that very much." Frodo smiled, relief flooding the vivid blue eyes. Elrond noted that his hands and feet seemed chilled, cold to the touch, though he no longer shivered . . . one more unravelling strand. "That will be nice . . .I should like to . . .to see him again . . .just now . . ."
The healer paused for a moment, his eyes growing distant and a low female voice dropped into his mind. "It is done, child."
There were few that could call Elrond, "child" and he found it somewhat comforting that Galadriel was journeying with them and at the same time something within him laughed at the very thought of finding Galadriel's presence comfortable. Wringing out a cloth in the basin he began to lave Frodo's tiny body, pale and chill as liquid marble. Using his touch to push a little of his own strength into the flesh, Elrond could already feel the edges of the gauzy fabric of Frodo's fea beginning to fray. And a slow rent appeared . . . steadily growing like old silk stretched too tightly.
Frodo remained quiet now, allowing Elrond to bathe him without protest or restless fidgeting, seeming distant, his voice half-distracted.
"What are they like, . . .the Undying Lands? Does anyone know?"
The lowering sun fell warm on Elrond's back as his hands moved gently but confidently in a dance so often practised in sick rooms down the centuries that his thoughts could focus elsewhere. He bathed and dried the small body as one part of his mind was desperately trying to slow the tearing . . . only one more night . . . yet another part knew that the task was hopeless now. And all the while his voice remained calm and clear.
"Think of an old portrait, its varnish darkened with age, the colours muddied. That is Middle earth. But in the Undying Lands there is no veil of varnish. Colours are brighter. The air is as clear as the breezes that blow across the gorse covered heath and it smells as pure as the most carefully distilled oils. The land is as pristine as it was at the moment that Illuvatar sang it into being."
"Ah . . ." The blue eyes closed, Frodo resting as he listened. "It sounds wonderful . . .I cannot think of a more beautiful place to rest . . . I do wish I could see it . . ."
There were a few moments of quiet, save for his quick little breaths, slightly ragged breathing coming from the small chest. In those moments and with those simple words Elrond knew that Frodo had decided which path he was destined to take beyond the crisis . . . had decided it was time to let go. The Ringbearer's next words were no surprise, therefore.
"There are . . .letters. In my pack. For Bilbo, and . . .for Sam . . .and . . . a few others."
"I will see that they are delivered." The elf made no attempt to deny the inevitability of the situation, for which Frodo was very grateful. Finding a fresh nightshirt, Elrond simply clothed his charge and wrapped him in a warm soft blanket. "Are you ready to see that sunset?"
Golden shafts of sunlight were turning to copper upon the wall as Frodo answered. "Yes . . .I am ready."
There was a strange sureness in Frodo's voice, a tone much like that Elrond first heard in the Council, so many months ago, in the notes which said, "I will take the Ring . . .though I do not know the way."
And yet the Ringbearer simply nestled weakly against Elrond's chest, settling gratefully into the blanket. With infinite tenderness he was cradled in the elven lord's arms and carried from the cabin, along the companionway and up into the glow of closing day.
At the stern of the ship, Gandalf stood with several elves but Elrond turned to the prow and the huge copper disc of the sun, now kissing the horizon beneath a bank of purple cloud carrying the presage of rain.
Before the rail, two chairs had been set, one small and lower than the other. And at the rail stood a diminutive figure. Elrond walked towards him and Bilbo smiled up at them although his eyes held a presage similar to the clouds. It would seem that he, at last, was fully aware of what was happening to his nephew.
"Hello, Frodo my lad. It's a lovely evening." His voice held a bright and brittle tone, a mere echo of its former self, as he offered a cup to Elrond. If Frodo noticed the fragility he gave no outward sign and fairly beamed, his smile soft and fragile in the bronze-coppery gold of the waning sun.
"Yes, it is, Uncle . . .very lovely indeed. I am glad we could . . .enjoy it . . .together."
His breath caught a little, and he looked to Elrond for a sip. A cup of warm cinnamon apple juice was offered before the elf lowered himself gracefully into a chair, settling Frodo in his lap, and the ancient hobbit folded his stiffening limbs into his. Bilbo took the opportunity of Frodo's distraction to dab at his nose and eyes with a bright red hanky.
"If I remember rightly, the last time we shared a sunset, the three of us, it was in Rivendell just before you returned to the Shire, Frodo lad."
Only Elrond noticed how fragile the motion of Frodo's throat seemed: the tiny hobbit sipped thirstily, but weakly, drinking with caution. Yet he managed a smile, watching his uncle with luminous blue eyes that seemed too large in such a small face . . .and somehow very far away.
"Your memory . . .hasn't failed you . . .there . . .it was indeed . . ." A moment's pause, and the soft, clear voice continued.
"And Bag End . . .isn't with the . . .Sackville-Bagginses . . .any longer . . .and I did . . .write down . . .the whole story. . . . After all, you did . . .teach me to . . .keep my . . .promises . . .didn't you?"
"That I did. And I am glad that you finished my book." Bilbo cleared his throat; all too aware that if he had nor raised his nephew with such a strong sense of duty he would not by lying in Elrond's arms now. He turned his attention to the sun, no longer a perfect disk, as it was devoured by the hungry horizon.
The elf offered tiny sips of juice, his fingers hovering at Frodo's throat. Elrond's voice was calm and quiet as his inner mind watched, unhindering, the slowly unravelling fibre of Frodo Baggin's life; the small Ringbearer's mithril thread entwining with the fading copper of the sunset.
"I am pleased that you wrote down your story, Little One. All should know the price that must be paid for peace."
As it passed his own fea the elf stroked it in gentle benediction and the silvery mithril filament caught slightly, as if in farewell embrace. . . .
"I only wanted to . . .keep my promise . . .and . . . leave something for . . .the others to remember it all . . .by." Frodo continued sipping, assisted by Elrond, appreciatively taking little mouthfuls of juice.
"It wasn't only . . .my story, after all. It was . . .too many people . . .to let it go. . . . Sam promised to . . .have copies . . .for . . .Merry and Pippin, for . . .Great Smials. . .and Buckland. . .and . . .to be sent . . .to Aragorn . . .and Eomer. . .and . . .Faramir. . . "
Another weak swallow. "My shoulder's warm now . . .comfortable. It doesn't hurt at all . . .nice and warm . ."
From the stern a chorus of fair voices floated on the air in a familiar tune . . .
"Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!
Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wonder back to home and bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
And then to bed. And then to bed."
The voices faded but Frodo felt Elrond's chest move as he drew breath and a strong and slightly deeper voice sang out alone into the fading day.
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, East of the Sun.
Moon and Star, Sky and Sun
Though I may fade, will not be done.
Flower and tree, water and loam
I'll join you all when I come home.
A soft sigh escaped the Little One's lips. "When I come home . . ." he murmured, almost-drowsily. "When I come home . . ."
Blue eyes fluttered closed, half-reopening to look up at Elrond. "Please . . .give Lady Celebrian my regards . . .and the others."
Frodo's eyes closed once more, his breathing slowing, growing increasingly shallow. No longer able to hold back his tears, Bilbo pressed his handkerchief to his mouth to muffle his sobs and Gandalf came to stand behind him, laying a strong hand upon the small hunched shoulders. The wizard's kindly blue eyes met Elrond's then looked down at the small bundle in the elven healer's arms.
No more healing could be done now. The fabric was in tatters . . . like a spider's web after a storm . . . and Lord Elrond of Imladris, son of Earendil, took one of Frodo's tiny cold hands in his. "It will be my honour, Frodo Baggins of the Shire."
Three miniature fingers, slender and once-nimble, curled around Elrond's as the little hobbit's breathing grew ragged . . .then evened, further slowing into a peaceful, even rhythm . . .
. . .and slowed. . .
and stopped.
The tiny mithril thread of song flickered, extinguished.
Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo, Ringbearer, lay motionless in the elven lord's arms, his hand still clasping Elrond's, as the last copper shimmer of sunlight faded into twilight.
And as the last trailing notes of Frodo's song sped past Elrond's fea the elf reached out . . . gathering a few notes from his own symphony he entwined them in the mithril thread and plucked a small string of melody from Frodo, weaving it into his own opus. Bending down, Elrond placed a soft kiss upon the cooling brow and then laid a hand upon his own breast.
"You will not be forgotten, Frodo. You will never be forgotten."
And a voice was raised in song . . .a single clear, dark soprano voice . . .Galadriel, singing a soft dirge.
It came to pass, in years that later came, that those who saw this said she wept. Others gave no such report. But it was said by those who had seen Valinor in its glory that the melody was one they had heard there after the Darkening of the Trees, and as such was of a sadness that Middle-earth had never heard before or since.
As if the world itself wished to join in the mourning the dark clouds finally released their burden, washing all in their soft fall of tears.
TBC.