Frodo Takes A Holiday…
The Morning
Frodo did not get out of bed on that Highday, even though the sun was bright and cheery and shone through the little bedroom window of Bag End. The cottony curtains filtered the warming rays with a hazy, late-summer shimmer, creating multi-hued prisms across the whitewashed walls. Frodo was not sick, or depressed, and not even all that tired- he just chose to remain where he was, wiggling his toes under the crispness of the bed sheets, with his downy comforter pulled all the way up to his chin. He stared at the ceiling, his dark chocolate curls splayed out against the plumpness of the goose-down pillows, and hummed a sweet, little tune to himself. He snuggled in deeper, becoming one with the linens and the feathers, taking in their freshness and earthiness.
The aroma of crispy fried bacon wafting in underneath his door was not even enough to stir him from his little nest- there would always be breakfast, but he would not always have a day such as this!
A knock came at his door, first hesitant, then more persistent. It was dear Sam, come to check on him. Why had he not come to breakfast? Rosie-lass had outdone herself this morning, he proclaimed!
"Oh, I just didn't feel like it, Sam… but tell Rosie thank you all the same!"
Sam rushed in now, feeling Frodo's forehead and cheek as if some sort of fever had suddenly come upon him.
"Hmm… you don't seem to have a temperature, Frodo, me dear…"
He took a step back and looked at Frodo somewhat suspiciously, expecting maybe spots to appear from out of nowhere all over Frodo, but he could only see his beautiful Master all cozy in his bed, his eyes the color of the morning sky, and a mischievous smile dimpling his round and rosy cheeks.
Sam was not quite sure what to make of the situation, so he simply made his way back out the door with a shaking of his head and a perplexed look on his face.
Frodo gave a hearty laugh and twiddling his thumbs underneath the cover, he looked about his room with a sense of newness, as if seeing things for the first time…
Over the heavy mantelpiece above the small fireplace hung portraits of his beloved parents, Primula and Drogo Baggins. They stared out at him from their ornate frames with dusty eyes full of love and longing, and at once tears came to Frodo, for he had felt the same. They had died so long ago now, but since the destruction of the Ring and his return to the Shire, he sometimes felt as if they were right around a corner, or just down the road, or away across the field… as if he might call to them and they would appear from the next room.
Frodo sighed and forced his gaze to travel to a beautiful vase of flowers placed on his writing desk. Every morning before he woke, he would smell them before actually seeing them, and he would open his eyes to hyacinths or roses or camellias, all lovingly arranged by the mistress of the house. The flowers both cheered the room and lifted Frodo's mood, and they were great testaments to Sam's skill as a gardener, and Rosie's eye for color and symmetry. Today, morning glories greeted him, the little lily-white trumpets basking in the increasingly sunshine filled room, opening ever so slowly, as if yawning after a good night's sleep.
Endless books were scattered around the room, some lying haphazardly on the carpet, others stacked neatly on the bedside table, and still more piled under the bed. Frodo made a mental note to himself to be more tidy- starting tomorrow. The books delved into a myriad of subjects, some light-hearted, others historical and technical, and some even romantic and lyrical. It was his beloved Bilbo who taught him the value of a good book, and Frodo found that he could barely make it through the day without fingering the pages of a well-worn volume of poetry or a dusty tome of Elvish pre-history. He loved them all and wondered if his memoirs in the Red Book of the downfall of the Lord of the Rings would someday find its way into some great library and be read by Hobbits and Humans alike.
Something caught Frodo's attention now and he looked out the small bedroom window. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched an endless parade of birds settle and re-settle themselves onto the little feeder that stood in the middle of Bag End's pristine garden. They ended up scattering most of the seed to the ground as usual with their commotion, feeding themselves as well as the greedy squirrels. They chirped and twittered, some larger birds now swooping in and dispersing the rest with a great flapping and squawking, almost causing the feeder to teeter-totter over with the extra weight. He gave a small smile and sunk back into the covers now, the sounds of the birds still in his ears.
"What a beautiful way to spend the morning…" Frodo whispered, and he stretched and yawned and rubbed his eyes. A beautiful long eyelash rested on his finger, and Frodo looked at it, a memory now flooding over him, his mind going blank for a moment. He found himself standing in the kitchen of his family home on a rainy afternoon, many long years ago now, his mother rubbing him briskly from head to toe with a fluffy towel, after he had come in soaked from playtime.
"Now Frodo, my little one, whenever you lose an eyelash, you must quickly make a wish and then blow on it. Whatever you wish for will come true!"
Her voice was like a tinkling wind chime, thought Frodo, and he would have believed anything she told him. His mother then lightly touched his cheek, and bade him take the errant eyelash. Frodo contemplated on it for a moment, and giving Primula one last look, closed his eyes tightly, made a wish, and then blew on his finger. He watched the little eyelash float merrily on its way, and he dared not breathe, lest he cause the eyelash to drift off its intended course. He waited for a moment, screwing up his face, and Primula could not help but laugh and clasp her young one to her breast in an enormous hug. Frodo thought to himself, there in his mother's arms, that indeed, she was right! His wish has come true!
As on that day so long ago, Frodo again closed his eyes and made the same wish, and Frodo swore that he could feel his mother's arms around him. He could smell her hair, washed by the rainwater that collected in the barrel outside their house, and the beat of her heart kept time with his… and tears ran down his cheeks…
A soft knocking came at his door now, pulling him out of the long lost memory, and Frodo quickly straightened himself up, smoothing out his linens and brushing away his tears.
"Come in, Mistress Rosie."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo- I've just come to see if you need anything, and if you might do me a bit of a favor?"
Rosie was pretty and plump, the bloom of motherhood upon her cheeks, and Frodo would have done anything for her…
"Oh, I'm perfectly happy right now, dear Rosie, thank you. But what is it I can do for you?"
"Well…" and she hesitated, coming further into the room now, "I must do a bit of shopping for tonight's dinner, you see, and I need to get to the market early so as not to miss out on all the best, and dear Sam, well, he's gone up to the Gaffer's for another shovel, why, I don't know, but anyway… would you mind lookin' after the wee one, just for a little while? I can even bring her in here, she would be no trouble to you…"
Frodo did not notice the tear falling from his eye, but Rosie did, and she came to him and held his hand in hers and caressed it.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo, if it's too much for you, don't be worryin' yourself. I can wait till Sam returns…"
"No, Rosie, no… that's not it… not it at all. I… I would love to watch Elanor for you- she is such a dear and I am only crying because… because I am happy. Happy that you would trust her to me, your wee one…"
The tears started again, and this time Frodo hid his face. He was so prone to tears these days, and Rosie waited till he collected himself, gave his hand a little pat, and went to fetch Elanor.
By the time she returned, Frodo had washed his face and had made some apparent effort to tame his unruly curls. The window was open and the heady scent of the roses planted right underneath the sill wafted in on the warm breeze, the curtains billowing like great white sails. He had gathered more pillows on the bed for little Elanor to sleep between, and smoothed the bed sheets, and he sat there, straight and tall, waiting for mother and daughter to arrive. Rosie smiled and thought to herself it was as if the King and Queen of Gondor were making a royal visit!
"Here she is, Frodo dear. She's just about to fall to sleep, so all you need do is sing her one of those beautiful Elvish songs- you know how she loves them- and soon she'll just be cooing away…"
Rosie laid the little, squirming bundle of pinkness next to Frodo, and he scooted down on the bed to be face to face with her. Elanor looked at him with her huge baby eyes, so like his, and gave him a little baby smile and Frodo could have melted right then and there…
Rosie tiptoed away, stopping for a moment at the door to take a last look. What a dear picture- how she wished Mr. Frodo would stay forever in Bag End and watch Elanor grow up, but Rosie noticed, day by day, how Frodo had become more restless and forlorn, as if haunted by some unseen force… she did not know what the future had in store for her little family and their adopted Uncle Frodo, but Rosie resolved to herself that she would always be there for Frodo, and that come what may, no sadness would ever touch him on her account.
The Afternoon
Rosie returned just after noon to a quiet Bag End, and tiptoed her way to Frodo's bedroom door. She pressed her ear to his door, and all was peaceful within. She cracked the door a bit and peeked in, and her eyes could not have held a more precious sight. There was her little Elanor, all snuggled up with Mr. Frodo, his hand resting gently on her tummy, and a long, loose curl of Frodo's hair resting upon Elanor's forehead. They slept and breathed in unison and Rosie stood there, mesmerized.
"I'll just leave them be for a while…"
Walking slowly back to the kitchen to prepare for lunch, Rosie could not help but think that if not for Frodo's sacrifice at the edge of Mt. Doom, Elanor might never have been born… she stopped in her tracks and gave an involuntary shudder, for she knew in her heart that the Shire, and indeed all of Middle Earth, owed a debt of gratitude to Frodo that could never be paid…
Sam had returned from the Gaffer's and came into the kitchen, hungry as usual, but giving a sideways glance towards the long hallway that led to Frodo's bedroom. He asked Rosie about her morning, but she could tell what was really uppermost in Sam's mind…
"No, Sam, he's still in bed, but he's alright- really he is!"
"Now see hear, my dearest Rosie, you've got to stop lookin' into my head!" Sam said playfully. "You sure do have a way of knowin' what I'm thinkin'! But…but for Mr. Frodo not to get out of his bed- well, Rosie, you know as well as me that means he's usually taken one of his turns. When I saw him this morning, though, he looked right as rain!"
Sam scratched his head and turned to Rosie for some sort of explanation.
"My dearest Sam!" and she gave a lovely little laugh. "He's just taken the day off, I imagine. You should give a peek in his room, and then maybe you won't be so worried…" and Rosie gave him a gentle push down the hallway, shushing him as he went.
Putting his ear up to the door, Sam waited, and very soon he heard little baby ooh's and aah's, and then a very familiar laugh. He proceeded to open the door as quietly as he could and pushed his head in- there on the big bed sat his beloved friend, Frodo, knees up, with little Elanor sitting on his stomach, playfully bouncing her up and down, making both of them giggle with delight. Frodo then took Elanor and lifted her high over himself, and she squealed with delight as her little baby arms and legs went flying. Sam could see tears in Frodo's eyes now, and he quietly entered the room, waiting by the door, not wanting to disturb the scene played out before him… he hadn't seen his Master this happy since before the Quest, and it did his heart good.
"Oh, hullo, Sam!" said Frodo, bringing Elanor back down to Earth again, and she clapped her tiny hands together and gurgled.
"We've just been playing, the little lass and I…"
Frodo gave Sam such a look that he thought his heart would break, but just then Frodo said…
"I expect she'll be hungry now…" and he handed her, albeit reluctantly, to her father. Sam had to help extricate a lock of Frodo's hair from Elanor's tiny fist, and she gave a giggle as she was passed between the two hobbits.
"I 'spect so, at that… I'll just take her to her mother then. Do you need anythin', Mr. Frodo, dear? You must be famished by now. How about some fresh strawberries and cream- just picked them this morning!"
"Oh, well, actually, I'm a little tired now, Sam- if you don't mind, I may just rest here for a bit. I'll call you if I need anything, really I will…"
Sam came over now, little Elanor still in his arms, wriggling in anticipation of her lunch. He looked at Frodo, just as in the morning, and he could see no sign of distress in his Master's face, but only the slightest hint of weariness.
"Right then, Frodo dear…" said Sam somewhat disquietly. Since their return from Mordor, Sam found his Master more and more reluctant to join in on the daily doings of the Shire, preferring instead to surround himself with his books, sometimes locking himself up for days in his study. But only Sam knew what they had been through on their journey, a test of their wills so great that it was inconceivable they would come through unscathed- or alive, for that matter. He understood Frodo's moroseness and his craving for solitude, and for Frodo, it seemed to Sam now, the price of saving all Middle Earth had been too high…
"Oh… thanks for watching the wee one, Mr. Frodo... she loves you, you know, in her own baby way."
With that, they left Frodo alone, glancing back for one last look.
It was mid-afternoon now, and the sky had started to darken a bit, and the breeze came in cooler from the open window. Frodo had taken a short nap after handing over Elanor to Sam and upon waking, performed some of the necessities of the day, albeit a bit late. Before climbing back into his bed, Frodo bent over and touched his toes a few times to relieve some of the kinks and giving a wide yawn, dove headfirst into the pillowy softness of his bed.
"My, I never thought one could get so stiff and sore from doing nothing all day…"
The bed was strewn now with books, some open facedown to hold their places, others stacked in precarious little mounds on the soft, goose-down comforter. Frodo made himself comfortable once again, scattering a few of the books onto the floor, and giving a sigh, resolved to pick them up at the next available opportunity. Noise from outside his window caught his attention, and he heard various clinking and clanking coming from the garden, no doubt Sam tilling the good, green earth of the Shire for the end of summer's harvest. He gathered that Rosie was outside as well, hanging up baby diapers on the clothesline; Frodo heard various bits of their conversation carried on the wind…
"My, for such a wee thing, your daughter uses up plenty of nappies! Where does it all come from?"
"Us Gamgee's are known for our great appetites…"
"Among other things, I am sure!"
Frodo heard some light giggling and a hearty laugh from the pair, and then silence; he presumed both were getting back to their work.
He looked around, then, seeing the clutter of his bed, his room, himself…
"I really am spoiled, aren't I? A whole day in bed- unheard of! I don't deserve a day off- why, I haven't really worked in ages… now Rosie and Sam, they have their hands full… taking care of me and the baby…"
He said this to himself quietly, and a gnawing voice started inside him… you should be up and about, doing something, anything… surely you've grown stronger since your return. Don't be such a lay-a-about! Yes, there were days when the hurt of sting and tooth and sword and burden laid him so low that he feared never arising again, but today was not one of those days… yet he lay in his bed, like a king for all to wait upon. He crouched further under his covers now, clamping his eyes shut with such a ferocity as to make tears flow, hoping to hide himself away from the increasing, encroaching guilt and blame. It had been such a lovely day-please don't let it be spoiled… please, he whimpered to himself. He did not know who or what he pleaded with, but he kept on begging and he started to sweat under the heavy comforter…
Undeserving- yes, that's what he was- undeserving of a life of ease or pleasure. Even as a child, he felt this, and the death of his dear parents on the river that fateful day only reinforced these illogical thoughts.
The shift in his mind had taken fast hold. A flashback now, standing at the edge of Mt. Doom, the glow of the bubbling lava filling his eyes, and he claimed the Ring for himself, "The Ring is mine!", with the echo of Sam's heartbreaking "Nooooo!!!" in his ears, his head, his heart…
"I failed, I failed… no rest for me, no rest for me…"
All went black now and Frodo writhed under the covers, the sweat mixing with his tears, and he whimpered and moaned, and cried out so suddenly and forcefully that Sam, still hoeing in the garden and Rosie, hanging up the last nappy, froze in their movements. They ran to Frodo's door with fear in their eyes, and not even bothering to knock, entered Frodo's room, not knowing what they might find.
Frodo had fallen out of bed, all tangled up in comforter and books. His face was flushed and his hair wet and plastered to his skin, his breathing fast and heavy, his body arched as if in some tremendous pain. Sam ran to his dear Master, and scooped him up in his arms, and Rosie did her best to make them both comfortable, there on the floor…
"Frodo, Frodo, what's happened, my dear? Please tell your Sam!"
But he could not talk as yet, and in between sobs, Frodo shook so forcefully that Sam had trouble holding him.
"Another blanket, please, Rosie, and quickly!"
"What's the matter with him, Sam? He was so good this morning… except for a few tears, I mean. But he so easily does that these days…"
"I dunno myself, dear one. He'll have to tell us himself, when he's able."
Sam could only hold his dear friend, rocking him as if he had little Elanor in his arms, whispering words of comfort. Rosie held her breath for what seemed like ages, waiting for Frodo's torment to end, wringing her hands in helplessness…
"Oh, dear, there's the baby… she'll be wantin' me, Sam dear. Will you and Frodo be alright?"
"Why, I don't hear anything… oh, you and your Mother's ears, dearest lass! There she is! Yes, go to her- we'll be all right. I'm going to try and put him back into his bed."
Frodo seemed to quiet somewhat, then, and he opened his eyes, looking at Sam.
"Oh, Sam…"
"Try not to talk yet, Frodo, dear. Let's just get both of us off the floor, and then we'll see how you're feeling."
The Evening
There, again on his bed, Frodo lay, but without the ease of the earlier day. His knees were drawn up now, and his fists were clenched, and he was dripping with sweat. A "right mess" as Sam would say…
Frodo's crying had abated now, but at times a deep sigh would escape him, and an involuntary shudder would pass through his body. Sam sat beside him on the bed, with one hand on Frodo's head and the other behind his own, thinking to himself…
"Will dear Frodo never be at peace?
As if hearing Sam's thoughts, Frodo turned to him. His breathing had calmed considerably, and although his face was caked with salty tears and sweat, his eyes were dry and clear.
"It's dark outside, Sam… when did it get so dark?"
Frodo spoke in a hushed tone, and he tried to sit up, making it only up as far as his elbows. He looked about the room, and noticed the books scattered all over the floor and the little night table overturned, and he turned to Sam for some sort of explanation.
"Mr. Frodo, dear… you had some sort of attack… I dunno exactly, but Rosie and I found you on the floor, and… oh, Frodo, you were in a terrible state!"
Frodo lay back down again and tried to remember, but he was so tired now…
"Did I wake the baby, Sam? I hope I didn't frighten her…"
"Nah, don't you worry 'bout that, Frodo… it was just time for her feedin', that's all. Speakin' of feedin', you haven't had a bite all day! I must admit, my stomach's about ready for some of Rosie's savory chicken with mushrooms and dumplings- that's what we're having tonight… your favorite, isn't it, Frodo?"
Sam tried to be enthusiastic and cheerful, but as he watched Frodo, he could tell he was having none of it.
"Poor dear, having to grow up with a 'mad' Uncle. What will her friends say? They'll tease her, just you wait and see, Sam… just as they did to me, when I moved in with dear Bilbo…"
Frodo's flat, haunted voice trailed off now, and his face held no expression, only the slow trickle of his tears betraying any feeling.
Sam could say nothing to this, for he knew it to be only too true. He had grown up with Frodo, and had been witness to some of the brutal taunting Frodo endured while living with Mr. Bilbo, from both ignorant youngsters and even more ignorant adults. Sam ran home one day after a particularly ugly incident with Frodo and some of the town bullies, and asked his Gaffer if Frodo's cousin/uncle was really 'mad' and did that mean Frodo was too, because, you see, he really liked the young lad and would like to be his friend… the Gaffer could only hug his son, and then sit him down for a good talk about respectin' one's elders, and not judgin' a book by it's cover, and walkin' a mile through the Shire in another's shoes. That settled it right then and there for Sam- he was bound and determined to make Frodo his friend.
"C'mon now, Frodo dear. The only thing I know for certain is that Rosie-lass is cookin' up a wonderful supper for us and it should be ready right about now! What say we clean ourselves up a bit and have a relaxin' evening? We can have a smoke out under the Mallorn tree later on, if you feel up to it, I mean?"
Frodo gave Sam a sweet smile, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then changing his mind, he gave Sam a huge embrace, and wept a few last tears.
"There, there, Mr. Frodo… we'll see you at the table then, say, at half past?" Sam returned the hug and could have cried as well, but kept himself in check for Frodo's sake, and bid a hasty retreat.
Frodo slowly climbed out of bed, and felt a twinge in his right hip… must have happened when I fell out of bed, he thought. He bathed himself and ran his fingers through his hair, and then looked in the mirror, not surprised to see the waiflike character staring back at him.
"I've got to start eating more," he contemplated, and he could no longer look at himself, his eyes betraying him. He gave a heavy sigh and went to the window and wished he could be with Bilbo, and he stood there till a knock came at the door.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Rosie-lass! I'm just coming- another moment, if you please!"
"And no longer, Frodo dear!"
Frodo steadied himself and walked slowly down the long hallway to the kitchen area of Bag End. He could smell the delicious stew already and the toastiness of the kitchen hearth warmed his slightly cool skin. Around the large, rectangular table sat his dearest friend in the whole world, the loveliest lady of the house in the entire Shire, and their sweet Hobbit-babe, and Frodo smiled a bittersweet smile.
Rosie and Sam sat next to each other, while Frodo took his usual spot beside Elanor. Obviously tired, Frodo ate and drank, but without much pleasure. He joined in on the conversations, but could add nothing of interest to them. He smiled and laughed when it was called for, but the effort it took for him to do even this much was almost unbearable. Sam and Rosie did their very best to keep the mood light in the close kitchen quarters, but the only thing that seemed to relieve Frodo, even if just for a moment, was a sweet baby gurgle from Elanor. She had been smushing her mashed potatoes around on her little plate for most of the evening, and, as if sensing the little party needed some cheering up, picked up a handful of the thick, gooey mess and let fly at her Uncle Frodo! Thwack! Frodo was covered in mashed potatoes! All through his hair, in his eyes, and down his nightshirt! Rosie just sat there, her hand covering her mouth and Sam was no better- he was stunned into silence, which, for a Gamgee, was quite a feat!
Frodo was an absolute mess, but it did the trick. Taken aback for a moment, he then let go with a loud guffaw, and Rosie and Sam soon followed suit. Their sudden merriment seemed to echo long and loud through the little hobbit-hole, and Frodo had tears coming from his eyes now, not from sadness or painful memories, but from happiness and downright embarrassment! Rosie tried cleaning him up but only managed to smear the potatoes more thoroughly throughout his hair and over his face, and laughter once again ensued. All the while, little Elanor sat in her baby-chair, looking as innocent as a wee one should. Wanting to get some of the attention her Uncle Frodo seemed to be enjoying, she proceeded to coat herself with the rest of the mashed potatoes, and the little family found themselves rolling on the floor.
Midnight
Frodo needed a little help getting all the mashed potatoes out of his hair, but after a hot bath, he finally settled himself once again into bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin, and gave a little sigh.
"Everything alright there, Frodo?" asked Sam, standing at the bottom of the bed.
"Yes, Sam, everything's alright here," replied Frodo, somewhat sleepily.
"Just wanted to say sorry again about little Elanor's misbehavin'. That must come from her mother's side…"
"Oh, Sam, really now. That was the best fun I've had in a long time! Too bad there weren't any mashers left as I'd have spread the fun around a little!"
"You wouldn't have, Mr. Frodo!"
"Indeed I would have! No sense in just me having all the fun…"
Frodo stopped there, contemplating what he had said. He hadn't had much fun lately, it's true. It was so confusing to him sometimes. He was alive, but at times there was nothing more he wanted than to not be… but that was wrong, he thought- about as wrong as thinking his suffering would end with the destruction of the Ring. But when he looked into Elanor's eyes, or filled himself up on Rosie's home-cooked meals, or had a lazy smoke with Sam, he knew that all his suffering was worth it. He did deserve to live and to have fun, and take a day off if he wanted. He was, after all, Frodo the Ringbearer…
"Goodnight, Sam, my old friend. Give Rosie a little kiss for me, will you? She is such a dear lass- oh, and tell her to have plenty of that bacon for tomorrow's breakfast- I'll be up early!"