YAY! ::basks in reviews:: Ya know reviews make a happy author :D and you
all have made me very very happy! I'm glad you all like this so very much
::wipes away tear dramatically:: I also like to make it a habit of reading
stories by my reviewers cuz one good turn deserves another ^^ ok I'm
talking too much I know what you all want. On with the story. Just another
note. YES ALL OF THE EVENTS IN TOLKIEN'S LIFE ARE TRUE (I'm not sure about
the dreams but there's a chance ::wink:: and the letter at the end of this
heh but I needed something) Also as you'll soon see Frodo and Tolkien have
a bit more in common in their suffering than the loss of their parents and
a strong bond will form as their relationship changes so does their
understanding for the depth of each others wounds.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John's eyes fluttered open and for a moment it was as if he saw two black butterflies over his eyes. It did not take long for the rich green forest to come into focus around him. A smile spread across his features but he did not move. For a short moment he wanted to bask in the glory that was Middle-Earth. He lie curled up in the fissure of a great tree, one of the elder trees, one that was spared. It's great roots curved around his body as if protective arms cradled him in this wondrous dream. The tree could say so much. Some of the bark on the trunk was badly burned and only half of it bloomed to its fullest. But the ancient tree was warm and inviting. John tried to curl tighter into the fissure, filling it with his whole body, becoming part of it, but he found that his long legs draped over it. He sighed and sat up and yawned. His long arms stretched reaching up to the tree's limbs but hardly reaching them. As much as a "giant" he was now he could still not rival a great oak. Still he found that he was strangely content this time. And his smile never vanished. He yawned like a cavern and put his hand to his chin feeling the rough stubble that had come some time ago. There struck his memory and he leapt up with such spry vigor that he spun around and kicked his heals. He was as happy as Frodo at Bilbo's birthday and nothing could damper his mood. He had news, great news for his dear old friend. After all those years of studying under his friend's hand (which had only been a month or two for Frodo) the time had finally come.
John stretched his legs and looked about. There was a chill in the air. Winter was receding and John hugged himself tightly in the cold March weather. He looked about, Frodo was normally there. "Frodo!" He called out as cheerfully as he ever has. He looked in the trees expecting to see the old Hobbit finishing his book. There was nothing but the chill in the air and the low murmur of the wind through the bare branches. He saw tiny buds fight frost and death through the stubborn winter that refused to let it iron grip of ice from the land. A shadow of worry passed John's face. He was a part of Frodo and Frodo was a part of him and thus he could not shake the sense of foreboding. But he quickly covered it.
"He's getting tired. It's too cold for him to be out wandering about. And I'll be damned if Sam will let him," John laughed but hushed as he cursed. Frodo had always disliked him cursing so he learned to hold his tongue. He was taught that it was a sign of disrespect and the old Hobbit would get quite scorned when he said the slightest of profanities. John suppressed a chuckled, remembering one of Frodo's disapproving scowls, and started towards the Shire. This news could not wait. John broke into a jog, then a run, then a sprint.
He could barely recall the forest pass him by nor the roads and scenery of the Shire. He could barely recall leaving the forest at all before he was upon the round green door. He paused and looked up at the skies above as if giving that strange power a questioning look now considering his speed. As slowly and silently as a human could he opened the door and slouched into the house. He heard a slam behind him and spun around his heart thumping wildly. He could not be seen, this he knew, yet he was still an intruder to this world. He let out a sigh as he saw a very distraught Rose close the door and shake her head.
"Who leaves doors ajar in March," she muttered. John felt compelled to follow the lass. Her hair was disheveled and she was ringing a towel in her hands. He apron was untied at the bottom and it swayed about her skirts. She looked terrible as if she hadn't slept in days. John reached out a hand to touch her fair face. There was still a radiant beauty about the lass that reminded him so about his own beloved Edith.
His hand brushed against her cheek but she felt it not and kept her brisk walk down the halls. John bent further until he thought his back would break. Rose turned and slipped in through one of the doors. John hesitated and listened to the voices inside. He could barely make out the sad murmurs.
"...suffering...should Sam?..."
"...yes...but he's out..."
"..send...he'll come..."
"...dying?..."
Dying? Who was dying? John's eyes widened in fear.
"...pray not...Sam'll know..."
"...save him...find Sam...fly!..."
"...yes Rose..."
"...hold on Frodo..."
The door burst open and Rose and another Hobbit came bustling out. John was almost pushed out of the way. He watched them as they moved down the hall, the other Hobbit was a younger lad, he looked like Rose and as he was putting on his cloak Rose gave him a kiss on the forehead and said, "Fly, brother."
With that Rose had turned the way of the kitchen trying to hide tears. John was mesmerized the the motions of the two Hobbits and he stood dumbfounded, slouched in the hall. In time the words finally sunk into his mind. Suffering. Dying. Frodo.
John crept into the dim lit room and looked about. The shades were drawn and the only light was a small fire in the hearth that seemed to be dying and flickering as it fought the darkness. John made his way towards the tiny bed, something was tucked tightly under a good deal of quilts and blankets.
"Frodo?" he whispered. Silence answered.
The figure in the bed turned and tossed until the blankets shifted and John saw the pale face, ghostly in the firelight. He suppressed a gasp and looked on his face reflecting the pain he saw in the other's. Frodo was ill. His brow was furrowed in agony and his eyes clenched in fear. His pale lips moved wordlessly as he fought inner demons. His trembling hands rose and fell at his breast searching for something.
"Frodo," John tried again. The small Hobbit let out a low whimper that made the man's heart break. He searched for a place to sit but the closest place was by the window. He sighed and made his way towards the side of the bed. He sat down and found it much more comfortable though he had to curl up his long legs so that they would not knock anything over. He looked over, the ailing Hobbit now eye level with him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight but no tears came. He was too old for tears any longer. He would not cry. He reached out a hand and grabbed Frodo's as it wavered over his chest.
He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. "You know, Frodo," he began as if the Hobbit could hear him. "I've got some- some very good-" he swallowed around a lump in his throat, "good news."
A shuttering gasp of air came from Frodo but no answer. What could be wrong? John did not understand. He now cursed himself for not getting very far in the old book. He could recall his struggled reading and note-taking last night. He was in Lothlorien. He smiled at the thought and then his good news came back to mind.
"I got a degree, Frodo. A degree at this place called Oxford. I know it doesn't sound like much to you, but it took very hard work to get a degree at a place like that. I got it last summer. Summer of my twenty-third year to be precise. I worked hard, Frodo. I did it for you. Now I can understand, and I'm working hard with your book."
He continued with his good news as if Frodo could hear him. "But there's some other news, Frodo. And it's even better. Do you remember Edith? How her father wouldn't let me talk to her for a while. But I waited and I waited. Well it's March now, Frodo. It's March and on the 22nd I plan to marry her. I hope you're happy for me. She is a very lovely woman, and I love her."
There came a little squeeze from the hand in his and John turned and looked at Frodo. He smiled faintly but Frodo made no more attempts to communicate. The Hobbit had calmed and was now sleeping but constantly dreams would plague him and tear him out of it crying and screaming. If he knew of John's presence at all he did nothing to let it be known. John had moved to the window and kept peeping out through the drapes, waiting. Rose came in and sat by Frodo's side and John watched her silently. She was very beautiful. And he thought of Edith and smiled.
The tranquil silence filled the room and seemed to vanquish the dark and doom. Even Frodo seemed to calm and take refuge in the serenity when Rose grasped his hand or put a compress on his fevered brow. The silence was broken by a frantic rapping at the door. Rose jumped from her seat and fled the room as quick as she could. John looked from her as she left to Frodo. His fits had grown worse and now he was crying and lashing out. John leapt to his feet, knocking his head on the ceiling. He suppressed a curse and made his way to the foot of the bed.
"Frodo! Frodo!" he called standing over the Hobbit. "Shh, Frodo."
Frodo lashed out again and his eyes snapped open. They were clouded with fear and dread and they tried desperately to focus on the man standing before him. He let out another blood curdling cry now his words audible. "Keep away! I don't have it! Don't hurt me!"
John felt as if he had been struck in the face. "Hurt you?" he said softly, "Never, Frodo, it's me, John."
Frodo tried desperately to back away only succeeding in throwing himself against the headboard and tangling his weak limbs in the covers. "Help me! Help me, Sam! They've come!"
With that another Hobbit came bursting in the room with the force of a storm. He ran to Frodo knocking John down again. When John came to his senses he saw Samwise sitting at the side of the bed clasping Frodo's hands and gently putting his hand to his brow. "Shh, Mr. Frodo, everything will be alright. There's no one gonna hurt you here, sir."
Frodo whimpered and cried like a frightened child. "There was, Sam. He tried to kill me. He- he-" Frodo was gasping and shuttering, "He was big and terrible and he towered over me and he threatened me." Frodo's voice lowered and sounded drained, "He tried to take the Ring."
John felt tears burn his eyes now and they slowly surfaced and trickled down his cheeks. He slowly stood to his shaking legs and made his way back to the window, in the shadows, alone and far away where he could do no more harm. Rose and her brother appeared in the doorway and exchanged worried glances. John curled up by the window feeling miserable and wretched and stayed there until everything quieted down. He watched Middle-Earth's sun move across the sky and the Hobbits go about their business outside unaware of the evils that were within this small Hobbit-hole. But that was always the way it was there. Hobbits were safe and protected and it was because of people like Frodo and Sam that sacraficed so much to keep it that way. And Frodo suffered for it. He would never dance, or smile, or laugh again. John thought back to Bilbo's birthday party and the Hobbit he saw there. John thought of Edith and his degree and all the things he had to be happy about. Would those be so viciously and unmercifully taken away as well? John burried his face in his knees but did not cry anymore.
The sun slowly made it's way to the horizon and the sky burst forth in it's gold and burnt copper colors that dazzled him. No longer would Frodo be able to take in a fully enjoy the beauty of a March sunset. John lifted his head for the first time, a terrible pain ran through his neck but he ignored it. He saw Frodo sitting up in the bed staring at John.
"You're alive," John croaked through unshed tears.
"Well what do you know," Frodo smiled wryly.
John frowned, "You- you scared everyone."
"I heard your good news," Frodo tried to smile again but it was fake. Still John accepted Frodo's way of giving his congratulations and returned the false smile.
Frodo leaned back and wrapped himself in the covers. John stood and made his way to the bed. Frodo sighed and stared up at the ceiling until John's worried face intruded his vision. Frodo tried to smile but failed miserably. "You heard my news?" John asked not sure what else to say.
"Yes," Frodo nodded keeping his gaze on the ceiling.
Silence. Silence weighed down on the two and John felt as if he'd go mad. Finally Frodo said what plagued John's mind all that time. "It's the Ring, John. It may be gone but a part of me was taken with it. I shall never be whole again."
There was a pause and John was about to speak but Frodo spoke again. "Sometimes I wish they would just take me. Those nightmares. Take me and let me die."
"No," John whispered.
"You wouldn't understand, John, the travasties of war. What it's done to me. It's no longer worth living." Frodo said bitterly.
"That's not fair," John answered harshly. "That's selfish of you, Frodo."
Frodo turned a questioning glance at the man and scowled, "You could never understand. Why should I be let live? To suffer this!" He hissed coldly and John recoiled.
"What about Sam and Rose and Merry and Pippin. They all love you. What do you think it would do to them if you should die? They love you and they need you, Frodo, you can't let go."
"You do not understand the pain!"
"You would cause them that pain and a thousand times more to leave them like that!" John snapped back, angered at Frodo's selfish hopelessness.
Frodo turned around so he did not face the foolish man and mumbled angrily.
"You selfish coward!" John cried, "Think of Pippin. He's so young and he loves you and looked up to you. Can you picture the grief you'd give him. Those innocent eyes rimmed red with tears on your account!"
Frodo did not reply. His body rose and fell in a shuttering breath.
John tried again. He had to get his friend to see the reasons to hold onto life. "Or Merry! He's your friend, Frodo, and he loves you. But he'd hide it. He'd keep all the pain and torture inside so that he may stay strong for his cousin. He'd bottle all that anguish until it burned inside of him and suffer all that on your account!"
There was silence. Empty, cold silence.
"Because you let go, Frodo, you sentance all of the ones that you love and that love you to suffer as you suffer now."
Frodo's body stiffened. His face changed from it's bitter scowl and softened on the brink of tears. He did not let John see and kept his back to him. But John noticed the change and went on. He had to hold onto life. He just had to see.
"And what about Sam. You'd hurt him most of all. Do you even care about him. The one who gave up so much so that he could see you safe and happy and home again."
"But I am neither!" Frodo lashed out trying to hide his hurt. "No longer will I feel safe from these tormenting nightmares of what has been done. All that I've seen haunts me and drives me mad. No longer will I be happy or smile or dance ever again. Even the Shire was taken away from me. I can no longer feel at home here. I am- I am an intruder in my own home!"
"Would you want Sam to share that suffering with you! If he knew how much you suffered he would gladly take it all from you and a bear it a hundred times more. You know that Frodo. Would you take all that he has away from him?"
"No."
"Then let him believe that his old master is safe and happy and home. Even if you must leave him to do that." John said slowly.
"Pray you shall never know the pain of war. I wish no such fate to any creature, especially you, John," Frodo answered.
"War is a terrible thing but you will plague the aftermath upon the ones you love if you let go."
Frodo was silent. The truth of John's words sinking into him and banishing the coldness and the hopeless gloom. Frodo's gaze was fixed on the fire as it died in the hearth the orange glow of the embers flickered and danced behind his eyes. He watched the darkness consume them as they lay dying and the smoke filter from them as the spirit from Saruman's lifeless body had done. Small wisps of smoke filled the air as the fire made one last strive to live and then died in the darkness.
"It's hopeless, John, I cannot live," he said almost hyptontically. John followed his gaze to the smothered fire and walked over to the hearth. "All I am is ash. Ashes and dust." Frodo rambled never tearing his eyes from the fire.
As John was about to speak the door squeaked open and a very torn and teary eyed Sam emerged into the room. Upon seeing his master sitting up in the bed he ran to his side. "Master! Master! You're awake and alive!"
Frodo first looked at John and gave a slight nod then turned to Sam and smiled. It was a real smile. A real smile accompanied by real tears and he finally collapsed into Sam's arms. John smiled as well. He was alive. Sam returned the embrace then pulled away. "Mr. Frodo?"
"Oh Sam you're right, I am alive, and I couldn't be happier to be alive!"
Sam smiled broadly and walked over to the fire. He tossed on a bit more kindling and poked the dead embers. Soon enough flames licked hungrily at the dry kindling and a fire danced and sparked full of life and light.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken. From darkness a light shall spring.
~~~~~~~
John sat up but his heart was not fluttering madly and he was not covered in a cold sweat. He felt full and happy and he danced. He felt compelled to dance so he leapt to his feet and spun around and as the world whirled before him he thought how wonderful life was. On the table next to his bed was his degree from Oxford next to the post from the previous day. He stopped spinning and went through the mail. Finally he came across a letter in a light brown parchment he recognized all too well and he held it first to his heart then to his nose and took in the lovely perfume and sweet wild flower scent that was his beloved Edith.
"Pray you shall never know the pain of war. I wish no such fate to any creature, especially you, John."
John stopped as he opened the letter, his eyes fell on another letter he had looked over. It was not a draft notice but it made his heart sink all the more. He opened it slowly and it was a simple statement, perhaps the governments way of asking young men to go to war before having to draft them. It plainly read, *We are at War*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John's eyes fluttered open and for a moment it was as if he saw two black butterflies over his eyes. It did not take long for the rich green forest to come into focus around him. A smile spread across his features but he did not move. For a short moment he wanted to bask in the glory that was Middle-Earth. He lie curled up in the fissure of a great tree, one of the elder trees, one that was spared. It's great roots curved around his body as if protective arms cradled him in this wondrous dream. The tree could say so much. Some of the bark on the trunk was badly burned and only half of it bloomed to its fullest. But the ancient tree was warm and inviting. John tried to curl tighter into the fissure, filling it with his whole body, becoming part of it, but he found that his long legs draped over it. He sighed and sat up and yawned. His long arms stretched reaching up to the tree's limbs but hardly reaching them. As much as a "giant" he was now he could still not rival a great oak. Still he found that he was strangely content this time. And his smile never vanished. He yawned like a cavern and put his hand to his chin feeling the rough stubble that had come some time ago. There struck his memory and he leapt up with such spry vigor that he spun around and kicked his heals. He was as happy as Frodo at Bilbo's birthday and nothing could damper his mood. He had news, great news for his dear old friend. After all those years of studying under his friend's hand (which had only been a month or two for Frodo) the time had finally come.
John stretched his legs and looked about. There was a chill in the air. Winter was receding and John hugged himself tightly in the cold March weather. He looked about, Frodo was normally there. "Frodo!" He called out as cheerfully as he ever has. He looked in the trees expecting to see the old Hobbit finishing his book. There was nothing but the chill in the air and the low murmur of the wind through the bare branches. He saw tiny buds fight frost and death through the stubborn winter that refused to let it iron grip of ice from the land. A shadow of worry passed John's face. He was a part of Frodo and Frodo was a part of him and thus he could not shake the sense of foreboding. But he quickly covered it.
"He's getting tired. It's too cold for him to be out wandering about. And I'll be damned if Sam will let him," John laughed but hushed as he cursed. Frodo had always disliked him cursing so he learned to hold his tongue. He was taught that it was a sign of disrespect and the old Hobbit would get quite scorned when he said the slightest of profanities. John suppressed a chuckled, remembering one of Frodo's disapproving scowls, and started towards the Shire. This news could not wait. John broke into a jog, then a run, then a sprint.
He could barely recall the forest pass him by nor the roads and scenery of the Shire. He could barely recall leaving the forest at all before he was upon the round green door. He paused and looked up at the skies above as if giving that strange power a questioning look now considering his speed. As slowly and silently as a human could he opened the door and slouched into the house. He heard a slam behind him and spun around his heart thumping wildly. He could not be seen, this he knew, yet he was still an intruder to this world. He let out a sigh as he saw a very distraught Rose close the door and shake her head.
"Who leaves doors ajar in March," she muttered. John felt compelled to follow the lass. Her hair was disheveled and she was ringing a towel in her hands. He apron was untied at the bottom and it swayed about her skirts. She looked terrible as if she hadn't slept in days. John reached out a hand to touch her fair face. There was still a radiant beauty about the lass that reminded him so about his own beloved Edith.
His hand brushed against her cheek but she felt it not and kept her brisk walk down the halls. John bent further until he thought his back would break. Rose turned and slipped in through one of the doors. John hesitated and listened to the voices inside. He could barely make out the sad murmurs.
"...suffering...should Sam?..."
"...yes...but he's out..."
"..send...he'll come..."
"...dying?..."
Dying? Who was dying? John's eyes widened in fear.
"...pray not...Sam'll know..."
"...save him...find Sam...fly!..."
"...yes Rose..."
"...hold on Frodo..."
The door burst open and Rose and another Hobbit came bustling out. John was almost pushed out of the way. He watched them as they moved down the hall, the other Hobbit was a younger lad, he looked like Rose and as he was putting on his cloak Rose gave him a kiss on the forehead and said, "Fly, brother."
With that Rose had turned the way of the kitchen trying to hide tears. John was mesmerized the the motions of the two Hobbits and he stood dumbfounded, slouched in the hall. In time the words finally sunk into his mind. Suffering. Dying. Frodo.
John crept into the dim lit room and looked about. The shades were drawn and the only light was a small fire in the hearth that seemed to be dying and flickering as it fought the darkness. John made his way towards the tiny bed, something was tucked tightly under a good deal of quilts and blankets.
"Frodo?" he whispered. Silence answered.
The figure in the bed turned and tossed until the blankets shifted and John saw the pale face, ghostly in the firelight. He suppressed a gasp and looked on his face reflecting the pain he saw in the other's. Frodo was ill. His brow was furrowed in agony and his eyes clenched in fear. His pale lips moved wordlessly as he fought inner demons. His trembling hands rose and fell at his breast searching for something.
"Frodo," John tried again. The small Hobbit let out a low whimper that made the man's heart break. He searched for a place to sit but the closest place was by the window. He sighed and made his way towards the side of the bed. He sat down and found it much more comfortable though he had to curl up his long legs so that they would not knock anything over. He looked over, the ailing Hobbit now eye level with him. He squeezed his eyes shut tight but no tears came. He was too old for tears any longer. He would not cry. He reached out a hand and grabbed Frodo's as it wavered over his chest.
He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. "You know, Frodo," he began as if the Hobbit could hear him. "I've got some- some very good-" he swallowed around a lump in his throat, "good news."
A shuttering gasp of air came from Frodo but no answer. What could be wrong? John did not understand. He now cursed himself for not getting very far in the old book. He could recall his struggled reading and note-taking last night. He was in Lothlorien. He smiled at the thought and then his good news came back to mind.
"I got a degree, Frodo. A degree at this place called Oxford. I know it doesn't sound like much to you, but it took very hard work to get a degree at a place like that. I got it last summer. Summer of my twenty-third year to be precise. I worked hard, Frodo. I did it for you. Now I can understand, and I'm working hard with your book."
He continued with his good news as if Frodo could hear him. "But there's some other news, Frodo. And it's even better. Do you remember Edith? How her father wouldn't let me talk to her for a while. But I waited and I waited. Well it's March now, Frodo. It's March and on the 22nd I plan to marry her. I hope you're happy for me. She is a very lovely woman, and I love her."
There came a little squeeze from the hand in his and John turned and looked at Frodo. He smiled faintly but Frodo made no more attempts to communicate. The Hobbit had calmed and was now sleeping but constantly dreams would plague him and tear him out of it crying and screaming. If he knew of John's presence at all he did nothing to let it be known. John had moved to the window and kept peeping out through the drapes, waiting. Rose came in and sat by Frodo's side and John watched her silently. She was very beautiful. And he thought of Edith and smiled.
The tranquil silence filled the room and seemed to vanquish the dark and doom. Even Frodo seemed to calm and take refuge in the serenity when Rose grasped his hand or put a compress on his fevered brow. The silence was broken by a frantic rapping at the door. Rose jumped from her seat and fled the room as quick as she could. John looked from her as she left to Frodo. His fits had grown worse and now he was crying and lashing out. John leapt to his feet, knocking his head on the ceiling. He suppressed a curse and made his way to the foot of the bed.
"Frodo! Frodo!" he called standing over the Hobbit. "Shh, Frodo."
Frodo lashed out again and his eyes snapped open. They were clouded with fear and dread and they tried desperately to focus on the man standing before him. He let out another blood curdling cry now his words audible. "Keep away! I don't have it! Don't hurt me!"
John felt as if he had been struck in the face. "Hurt you?" he said softly, "Never, Frodo, it's me, John."
Frodo tried desperately to back away only succeeding in throwing himself against the headboard and tangling his weak limbs in the covers. "Help me! Help me, Sam! They've come!"
With that another Hobbit came bursting in the room with the force of a storm. He ran to Frodo knocking John down again. When John came to his senses he saw Samwise sitting at the side of the bed clasping Frodo's hands and gently putting his hand to his brow. "Shh, Mr. Frodo, everything will be alright. There's no one gonna hurt you here, sir."
Frodo whimpered and cried like a frightened child. "There was, Sam. He tried to kill me. He- he-" Frodo was gasping and shuttering, "He was big and terrible and he towered over me and he threatened me." Frodo's voice lowered and sounded drained, "He tried to take the Ring."
John felt tears burn his eyes now and they slowly surfaced and trickled down his cheeks. He slowly stood to his shaking legs and made his way back to the window, in the shadows, alone and far away where he could do no more harm. Rose and her brother appeared in the doorway and exchanged worried glances. John curled up by the window feeling miserable and wretched and stayed there until everything quieted down. He watched Middle-Earth's sun move across the sky and the Hobbits go about their business outside unaware of the evils that were within this small Hobbit-hole. But that was always the way it was there. Hobbits were safe and protected and it was because of people like Frodo and Sam that sacraficed so much to keep it that way. And Frodo suffered for it. He would never dance, or smile, or laugh again. John thought back to Bilbo's birthday party and the Hobbit he saw there. John thought of Edith and his degree and all the things he had to be happy about. Would those be so viciously and unmercifully taken away as well? John burried his face in his knees but did not cry anymore.
The sun slowly made it's way to the horizon and the sky burst forth in it's gold and burnt copper colors that dazzled him. No longer would Frodo be able to take in a fully enjoy the beauty of a March sunset. John lifted his head for the first time, a terrible pain ran through his neck but he ignored it. He saw Frodo sitting up in the bed staring at John.
"You're alive," John croaked through unshed tears.
"Well what do you know," Frodo smiled wryly.
John frowned, "You- you scared everyone."
"I heard your good news," Frodo tried to smile again but it was fake. Still John accepted Frodo's way of giving his congratulations and returned the false smile.
Frodo leaned back and wrapped himself in the covers. John stood and made his way to the bed. Frodo sighed and stared up at the ceiling until John's worried face intruded his vision. Frodo tried to smile but failed miserably. "You heard my news?" John asked not sure what else to say.
"Yes," Frodo nodded keeping his gaze on the ceiling.
Silence. Silence weighed down on the two and John felt as if he'd go mad. Finally Frodo said what plagued John's mind all that time. "It's the Ring, John. It may be gone but a part of me was taken with it. I shall never be whole again."
There was a pause and John was about to speak but Frodo spoke again. "Sometimes I wish they would just take me. Those nightmares. Take me and let me die."
"No," John whispered.
"You wouldn't understand, John, the travasties of war. What it's done to me. It's no longer worth living." Frodo said bitterly.
"That's not fair," John answered harshly. "That's selfish of you, Frodo."
Frodo turned a questioning glance at the man and scowled, "You could never understand. Why should I be let live? To suffer this!" He hissed coldly and John recoiled.
"What about Sam and Rose and Merry and Pippin. They all love you. What do you think it would do to them if you should die? They love you and they need you, Frodo, you can't let go."
"You do not understand the pain!"
"You would cause them that pain and a thousand times more to leave them like that!" John snapped back, angered at Frodo's selfish hopelessness.
Frodo turned around so he did not face the foolish man and mumbled angrily.
"You selfish coward!" John cried, "Think of Pippin. He's so young and he loves you and looked up to you. Can you picture the grief you'd give him. Those innocent eyes rimmed red with tears on your account!"
Frodo did not reply. His body rose and fell in a shuttering breath.
John tried again. He had to get his friend to see the reasons to hold onto life. "Or Merry! He's your friend, Frodo, and he loves you. But he'd hide it. He'd keep all the pain and torture inside so that he may stay strong for his cousin. He'd bottle all that anguish until it burned inside of him and suffer all that on your account!"
There was silence. Empty, cold silence.
"Because you let go, Frodo, you sentance all of the ones that you love and that love you to suffer as you suffer now."
Frodo's body stiffened. His face changed from it's bitter scowl and softened on the brink of tears. He did not let John see and kept his back to him. But John noticed the change and went on. He had to hold onto life. He just had to see.
"And what about Sam. You'd hurt him most of all. Do you even care about him. The one who gave up so much so that he could see you safe and happy and home again."
"But I am neither!" Frodo lashed out trying to hide his hurt. "No longer will I feel safe from these tormenting nightmares of what has been done. All that I've seen haunts me and drives me mad. No longer will I be happy or smile or dance ever again. Even the Shire was taken away from me. I can no longer feel at home here. I am- I am an intruder in my own home!"
"Would you want Sam to share that suffering with you! If he knew how much you suffered he would gladly take it all from you and a bear it a hundred times more. You know that Frodo. Would you take all that he has away from him?"
"No."
"Then let him believe that his old master is safe and happy and home. Even if you must leave him to do that." John said slowly.
"Pray you shall never know the pain of war. I wish no such fate to any creature, especially you, John," Frodo answered.
"War is a terrible thing but you will plague the aftermath upon the ones you love if you let go."
Frodo was silent. The truth of John's words sinking into him and banishing the coldness and the hopeless gloom. Frodo's gaze was fixed on the fire as it died in the hearth the orange glow of the embers flickered and danced behind his eyes. He watched the darkness consume them as they lay dying and the smoke filter from them as the spirit from Saruman's lifeless body had done. Small wisps of smoke filled the air as the fire made one last strive to live and then died in the darkness.
"It's hopeless, John, I cannot live," he said almost hyptontically. John followed his gaze to the smothered fire and walked over to the hearth. "All I am is ash. Ashes and dust." Frodo rambled never tearing his eyes from the fire.
As John was about to speak the door squeaked open and a very torn and teary eyed Sam emerged into the room. Upon seeing his master sitting up in the bed he ran to his side. "Master! Master! You're awake and alive!"
Frodo first looked at John and gave a slight nod then turned to Sam and smiled. It was a real smile. A real smile accompanied by real tears and he finally collapsed into Sam's arms. John smiled as well. He was alive. Sam returned the embrace then pulled away. "Mr. Frodo?"
"Oh Sam you're right, I am alive, and I couldn't be happier to be alive!"
Sam smiled broadly and walked over to the fire. He tossed on a bit more kindling and poked the dead embers. Soon enough flames licked hungrily at the dry kindling and a fire danced and sparked full of life and light.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken. From darkness a light shall spring.
~~~~~~~
John sat up but his heart was not fluttering madly and he was not covered in a cold sweat. He felt full and happy and he danced. He felt compelled to dance so he leapt to his feet and spun around and as the world whirled before him he thought how wonderful life was. On the table next to his bed was his degree from Oxford next to the post from the previous day. He stopped spinning and went through the mail. Finally he came across a letter in a light brown parchment he recognized all too well and he held it first to his heart then to his nose and took in the lovely perfume and sweet wild flower scent that was his beloved Edith.
"Pray you shall never know the pain of war. I wish no such fate to any creature, especially you, John."
John stopped as he opened the letter, his eyes fell on another letter he had looked over. It was not a draft notice but it made his heart sink all the more. He opened it slowly and it was a simple statement, perhaps the governments way of asking young men to go to war before having to draft them. It plainly read, *We are at War*