Under the Mallorn Tree
Frodo excused himself from the dinner table, much to the protests of Rosie and Sam.
"Frodo, dear, you've hardly touched a thing! Is the meal not to your liking?"
Disappointment was in Rosie's voice and her eyes soon took on a look of concern. She had tried hard to be of some comfort to poor Mr. Frodo since she and Sam had moved into Bag-End right after their wedding. Rosie never pressed Sam to tell her about their journey, but as the day waned and nighttime fell upon them, when they were snuggled up together in their bed and their arms wrapped around each other, he would tell her bits and bobs, mostly about the Elves and the oliphaunts, but sometimes about more fearsome creatures. Sam would always speak in hushed tones, as if he was afraid that Frodo might hear him, but Rosie thought that ridiculous as Frodo's bedroom was at the other end of Bag-End. She had an inkling it had more to do with Sam's inability to really put into words what they had been through…
Frodo, on the other hand, never spoke of what happened, at least not to her. He always put on a brave face whenever he was around her, but she heard him at night all too often now, thrashing about in his bed, and moaning so piteously that Sam would have to go to him, not coming out till the morning had broken.
She would sometimes find Sam and Frodo huddled together, whispering, their heads so close that their golden and chocolate curls intermingled. What they spoke of she never inquired, but with each passing day, Frodo sank deeper into bouts of melancholy and anxiety. He would lock himself away in his study, even on the brightest and cheeriest of afternoons, writing in that book of his, and Rosie would find herself drawn to the barred door, waiting and listening. She often heard soft crying coming from within and all she could do was stand there, her heart breaking for him. She would think back on the past, remembering Mr. Frodo before he left on the quest, young and carefree, beautiful in body and spirit. Now, he seemed broken in both, barely able to help himself…
"Oh, Rosie, no, the food was wonderful as usual, thank you." said Frodo, his voice breaking into her thoughts.
"I'm… I'm just not as hungry as I thought…"
Rosie pondered that Frodo, as thin as he was, was never hungry these days, and she looked at him with kind eyes now.
"That's alright, Frodo dear. I'll put it away for later, and you can have it for a little midnight snack."
Frodo thanked her and got up slowly from his chair, holding onto the edge of the table for just a moment.
"Where are you off to, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, hesitating to be so nosy.
"I thought I might take a little walk, Sam. It's always so peaceful this time of night and it reminds me of those times with dear Bilbo. We would stroll together, arm in arm, when the Shire had long since gone to bed, and he would tell me stories of all his great adventures…"
Frodo's enormous blue eyes would take on a faraway look then, as they always did when he would reminisce of Bilbo. The elder Hobbit lived now with the Elves, and Sam would think sometimes that Frodo wished he were there as well.
"I could come along… I mean, if you wanted some company…?"
Frodo looked at Sam with grateful eyes, but said, "Oh, Sam, I'll be alright- really I will. You must stay here and help clean up and put little Elanor to bed. Don't worry, I shan't be long."
And with that, Frodo wrapped himself in his Elven cloak, thanked Rosie again for the fine meal, and left them.
"I worry about him, Sam dear, more and more every day." Rosie's back was turned to him now, her hands wringing themselves in her apron.
"I feel woefully inadequate sometimes to help him, and me, the lady of the house and all... you seem to be the only one he turns to. I don't know everything that happened, and I don't think I want to, but there is one thing I do know- you and Frodo share something special together that I will never be a part of."
With that, she turned around to face her husband, sadness now stealing over her soft features.
Sam wanted so much to tell her how sorry he was and how much he loved her, but Rosie continued…
"Oh, that's alright, Sam, love…" she said quietly. "Really it is. It could not be any other way between you both. What I mean to say is… it's like Mr. Frodo is still making his way to Mt. Doom, only he's not trying to save the Shire anymore, but himself… and I don't know if he can do that alone, Sam. He needs you more than ever to be there with him."
Rosie said this with such courage and conviction that Sam could only run to her and press her to himself and think that there was not a luckier Hobbit in the entire Shire as Samwise Gamgee.
"I think you should join Frodo on his walk, dear. It might do you some good as well."
She gave him a wink, her mood lifting now, and passing Sam his favorite walking stick, she practically pushed him out the door.
"Right then, Rosie-lass. Try not to wait up for us and give Elanor a kiss from her daddy and a hug from her dear Uncle Frodo."
Frodo, meantime, hugged his cloak tighter around himself as he stepped out into the cool, night air and followed a well-worn path from his doorstep, down the lane, and out among the many hobbit-holes, the quiet glow of candles coming from the small, round windows gently lighting his way.
He breathed in deeply, looking up at the stars, opening his arms wide as if taking in the whole night sky. How he loved the Shire, with its abundant gardens and rich countryside and joyful people. But that love was bittersweet now, for at times, the Shire felt like an alien world to him… or rather, he was the alien now, walking around as if he belonged still, but knowing in his heart he would never recover as long as he stayed. Frodo found it harder to shake the melancholy that was his constant companion these days and, when he was able to snatch moments of sleep, he mostly dreamt of joining Bilbo and going over the Sea...
With a sigh, he continued on his walk, coming to the beautiful Mallorn tree, a gift from the Lady Galadriel that had replaced the old Party tree, so torn asunder by the Chief's men during the War of the Ring. The grass was cool and wet underneath its bower, and he stopped, suddenly aware of how tired he was. At times he felt that the Ring still hung from a chain around his neck, the weight of it leaving deep impressions in his skin and dragging him down, making every step he took a misery. He decided to rest for a bit, and the Mallorn stretched out its low hanging branches and full, golden foliage, enclosing him, as a Mother would gather her child to herself. He sat down heavily, leaning his back against the gnarled bark of the tree, relishing its roughness. More often than not now, sensual pleasures and kindnesses brought him little comfort; only hurt or pain would appear to satisfy him, as if he was undeserving of the things any normal Hobbit would respond to. After all, he had convinced himself, he had failed in his quest… oh, yes, the Ring had been destroyed and the Shire had been saved, but not by his hand. His hand… Frodo had taken to hiding his left hand in his pocket or in his waistcoat, the shame of it too much to bear sometimes, an ever-present reminder of his weakness at the very edge of Mt. Doom itself.
"Wherever shall I find rest?" he cried, begging the stars and the twilight to answer him. He wept now, and the tree, as if it had heard his plea for help, embraced Frodo in its branches, rocking him in its boughs, its leaves caressing him. Frodo drifted off now, the swaying of the tree calming him, reassuring him, and easing his heart…
A distant memory loomed before him, coming to his mind's eye now, a face, hazy at first, but then clearer, rosy-cheeked and fair to look at. The vision spoke to him, its voice haunting somehow, but also familiar and comforting. Frodo heard it and wept for joy, for it was his young mother that had come to him. She was shimmering, like the leaves of the Mallorn, and she reached out for him and took him in her arms, and there Frodo lay, like a Hobbit babe. He looked at her, grasping her with his eyes for he found he could not move. She touched his cheek and brushed back a loose curl, and then said to him with a voice so sweet he thought he would melt…
"Frodo-lad…" and such tenderness went to his very depths, and at that moment, all fear and guilt and self-loathing left him…
He heard himself speaking, though he did not feel his lips moving.
"Mama…?"
"I'm here, Frodo dear."
"Why did you leave me?"
And her face lost some of its shimmer and Frodo feared that she would vanish before him, but she only smiled a sad smile and clasped him to her breast even tighter.
"I never left you, Frodo. I was always with you. But…sometimes there are no answers to such questions. How I loved you, my little child…"
Frodo thought he saw a silver tear on her cheek, and all he could do was look at her, feeling his mother rock him as she had so many times, long, long ago, when some anxiousness or restlessness kept him from going to sleep at night.
"I have always been in your heart, Frodo, dear."
Her face now glowed with a golden radiance, and Frodo almost had to squint to continue looking at her.
"When Sam comes to you in the middle of the night offering you his comfort and strength, I am there. When little Elanor pulls at your curls and then kisses your cheek, I am there as well. And when you are alone, suffering silently, keeping all the pain inside of you, I am there, too. Just ask for me, and you will find me…"
Frodo longed for more and she continued, her voice to him now like a healing balm to his body and soul.
"You shall not be in pain forever, dear. You will find rest again, I promise you."
Frodo strained to keep his eyes upon the fair face of his mother, but he felt so sleepy now.
"Mama, I love you…" and he drifted again, out of space and time, hearing his mother's last whisper of love for him.
Frodo felt a jostle, and heard a voice calling to him, and he slowly opened his eyes. There in front of him was his dear Sam, looking troubled, but relieved at the same time.
"Mr. Frodo, dear…" he said quietly.
"I'm here, Sam." Frodo looked up into those hazel eyes of his most dear friend, and then remembering the vision of his mother, he smiled.
"You fell asleep in the arms of this big old tree, Mr. Frodo. Funny thing about this Mallorn," he said quietly, looking around warily, "sometimes I think the Elves must have put a spell on it. It seems to breathe with you, and give you a special feeling on the inside every time you come near it, if you know what I mean…"
Frodo laughed out loud now, and it did Sam good to hear the sound of it, his Master's giggle like a bubbling brook.
"Yes, I do know what you mean, dear Sam…" and Frodo's eyes gave a twinkle.
"Can I help you up? Looks like there may be a storm tonight, and Rosie wouldn't want us coming back all dripping wet on her nice rugs!"
Sam felt a chill come into the air and the wind start to swirl about them, and pulling Frodo to his feet, gave him a good brushing off and a firm hug to warm him.
"Thank you, Sam. You're right about that. And Sam…" said Frodo now, his voice sweet and low, "I hope Rosie knows how much I truly appreciate her. She has been like a mother to me…"
A tear fell from his right eye onto his cheek, and Sam brushed that tear away in one gentle stroke of his hand, cradling Frodo's cheek.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo, she does, she does! Don't you worry any about that! She loves you more than you know! C'mon, now, it's time we got moving."
Just at that moment, a thunderclap broke the silence of their surroundings and they started to hurry now, Frodo intertwining his arm through Sam's like he used to do with dear old Bilbo. Frodo stopped suddenly and turned Sam towards him, catching him in a tender embrace. Sam could feel Frodo trembling, and he knew Frodo had something he wanted to say.
"You know, Sam… somehow I thought things would get back to normal once we were in the Shire again. But it's not turned out that way, has it? I don't mean to be such a burden to you and Rosie, but I fear the Ring has taken too much from me and I may never recover…"
Frodo's voice was wavering now, and he looked down at the ground, as if unable to hold his head up…
Sam could not help but feel pity for Frodo, for he thought the same, though it broke his heart to see his beautiful Master so deep in despair.
"Mr. Frodo, please believe me when I say this. You are not a burden to us. Why- we love you! And you help us as well, Frodo dear, though you probably can't see it."
"I do? How, Sam?" Frodo whispered this as if in disbelief.
Sam now took Frodo's face in his warm hands, lifting it and holding his gaze steady.
"When I first see those big, blue eyes of yours, Frodo, in the morning light, I know that I will see nothing more beautiful for the rest of my day. And when our Rosie-lass hears your sweet voice singing those beautiful Elvish songs to little Elanor, why, her heart just melts with joy. As for our Elanor, when I see her little baby fingers get all tangled up in your curls, I know she loves you, Frodo dear. So you see, we need you as much as you need us…"
Taking Sam's words in hungrily, like one who had been starved for too long, Frodo wept with joy. As they started on their journey back home, Frodo reflected on the wondrous vision of his mother under the Mallorn tree and Sam's gift of family, and Frodo found that peace again that comes from knowing true love.
"You know, Sam… I'm feeling a bit hungry now. Do you think we might finish up those leftovers?"
Frodo gave him a wistful look, his face beautiful again, and Sam could not help but smile…
"I think Rosie wouldn't mind that at all, Mr. Frodo." he said tenderly, and they walked through the door of Bag-End, arm in arm.