by Sally Gardens
Chapter Twenty-five: Illumination
Spring was coming.
Frodo stood on the side of the Hill, looking southward over Hobbiton. There had been rain in the night, and clouds, heavy and gray; but the clouds had broken with the morning, and the sun had emerged, all the more dazzling against the backdrop of darkness. The clouds had not ceased to be, but they had ceased to shadow Frodo's heart.
The Shire has been saved, but not for me.
The words echoed in memory, dimly, remnants of a passing shadow, hovering for a wistful moment before dissipating like the ashes of Saruman upon the west wind. Frodo breathed deeply, lifted his face to the morning sun, feeling its warmth and strength work its way into skin, sinew, bone, and marrow. He opened his eyes, slowly, and looked over the greening hills and vale, the budding trees, the flowing Water, the first signs of daily life in Hobbiton below.
"Yes," he said, a deep, radiant smile welling up from his heart to his face. "Even for me."
"Well, Sam." Frodo sat in the study, sipping a cup of tea while Sam worked at his desk. "I hope you can spare me for a while. I'm going on a journey—but do not worry; I shall be gone but a fortnight, and will come back, safe and sound."
Sam nodded. Slowly he looked up from his papers, and fixed his gaze upon Frodo. "I wish I could go with you," he said.
Frodo looked softly into Sam's eyes. "I'll need someone to welcome me back home," he answered, and that brought a smile from Sam.
Whistling, Frodo approached a dear, familiar door. By the time he had come close enough to knock, the door had opened and Molly had emerged, pack on her back.
"You're certain about this?" Frodo queried, hesitating. "I welcome your company, but I fear people will talk."
Molly snorted. "I put greater stock in your honor, Frodo, than in the esteem of gossips."
Frodo smiled and offered her his hand.
They returned briefly to Bag End, riding out from there upon two of Sam's ponies. They avoided the main roads and inns, traveling instead over fields and through little woods, and so avoided the eyes and ears of talebearing Shirefolk. Winter's end was hardly a favorable time to sleep out of doors, but though each day was overcast, Frodo and Molly were spared the heavy rains they might typically have expected at that time of year.
The air was chilly, the sky and sea gray, the afternoon they arrived at the Havens. Frodo stood upon the gray stone quay, hands clasped behind his back, looking out silently over the Sea. Molly stood at his side, holding her head high in defiance of the sharp, bitter wind.
"Have you ever seen an Elf, Molly?"
"No. I haven't."
"They have a light about them, Molly. Shining, as it were, from within. The very light that shines without fading in the Elvenhome, over the Sea."
It was like a dream, already fading. There remained only the sigh and murmur of the waves upon the shore, but the sound no longer pulled his heart.
"Perhaps that's what Sam meant when he wrote of you having an Elvish air," reflected Molly. "He wrote that he saw light shining through you, like a clear glass."
"Like a clear glass," repeated Frodo. He turned to Molly. "And if the vessel is other than clear glass, does the light within shine any less?"
Molly looked into his eyes, and slowly smiled. "Why, no," she mused. "I suppose I'd say it shines differently, and if the vessel be thick, it shines hidden to the eye; but it shines, all the same."
The Water flowed into the Brandywine, and the Brandywine flowed into the Sea, and the Sea brought the rains that watered the fields of the Shire and spilled over into the Water. It was all the same water, wherever he went.
"Indeed," he said, smiling tenderly as he took her hands in his. "It shines, all the same." He leaned toward her, and she leaned in to close the gap, allowing his lips to rest briefly on hers.
As they parted, he touched the tips of his fingers to her face, gazing upon her in wonder. Her eyes glowed warmly, like a welcome hearth at the end of a long, bitter exile.
"It shines in you," Frodo whispered. "It shines in us all..." He glanced over her shoulder to where the gray waves rolled ever without rest. "Whether we see it or not."
A gentle hand slipped behind his head and drew him back into embrace. "I, too, once came to the Sea for solace," Molly murmured. "Seeking peace. Seeking escape."
Frodo looked sharply at her.
"The ruffians," she explained in a controlled voice. "Back in nineteen."
Ahhh...
"Oh, Molly..." He reached again for her hands.
...confusion...panic...chaos...shouting...
...bodies...towering...terrifying...too strong...
With great effort Frodo steadied himself against the force of the vision that suddenly overtook him, a vision of fire and anguish and torn in two, all compressed into a single point of despair.
The Shire has been saved, but...
"...but it was nothing, I am sure, compared to the terrible burden you bore, the horrible things you endured..."
Frodo froze.
So I thought, too, once...
"Oh, no, Molly," gasped Frodo, overcoming his paralysis to take her into his arms as they both broke down weeping. "No, no, no..."
It was March twenty-fifth, and spring had come.