Shire-Perian: It was nice to hear from you. This is the final chapter. Should I do a sequel?

FrodoBaggins87: Thank you for your review. Here is the final chapter. J Enjoy. And, perhaps now you can tell me whether or not you want a sequel?

March 25, 1420 S.R.

Life is better now, more bearable. I possess no desire to escape to the nothingness I formerly considered a haven. There is no need, for I have a friend whom I can trust. Sandy is a Godsend; just in the time I needed a friend, he was there. It all seems so selfish now, the course of actions I was considering to take, the way I viewed everybody, though I still doubt Sam, Merry, and Pippin were truly friends. Why did I consider ending my life? I was miserable, falsely thinking that no one would want to be my friend. I still feel worn, feel the emotional damage from the Quest at times, my longing for the Ring; the physical damage, as well – the wound from the Nazgǘl blade, Shelob's sting. However, life is a bit more bearable with a friend.

It is as I feared though. The dreams returned all throughout yesterday whenever I slept. It is quite discomforting. I awoke absolutely terrified, limbs shaking, beads of sweat upon my brow. I was at Mount Doom the first time (Sam), then Bree (all four betrayed), and lastly before the mines of Moria where that creature attacked me, and the entire Fellowship left me to die without a second thought. F.B.

Frodo closed the burgundy book after placing the white bookmark on his page. After he bathed and dressed (for he felt he was to leave today), he put it in his weskit pocket and walked out of the room toward the kitchen. All his movement was still slow and painful, but not nearly as painful and slow as before. His back muscles were rapidly regaining their strength, for he had mostly lied down in the bed.

Sandy looked up from his morning gazette as Frodo greeted, "Good morning, my friend!"

Sandy smiled. "Glad to see you up and dressed. That's good, for I was planning on sending you back to Cotton's today," he replied cheerfully.

Frodo's heart sank. He thought Sandy would keep him until he was ready to go. Even though he had planned to leave that morning and wanted to announce it, Frodo longed to have Sandy insist on him staying another few days, which he would have insisted he did not need because Sandy had done too much for him already. "Oh," was all Frodo said, swallowing his disappointment.

"Of course, I will give you some medication to take with you, friend," Sandy continued while stuffing food onto a plate for Frodo and giving it to him.

"Thank you," Frodo said gratefully as he received the plateful of food.

"And, you will need to buy another bandage for your back so you can have one on while you're washing the other. Then, may I suggest, some new pants would be nice. Those have quite a few patches, good for work but not for special occasions."

Frodo looked at his pants. They did have quite a few patches, as could be expected since he had not yet thought to buy new ones since returning to the Shire as he had been spending much time away from other hobbits. "Right."

"You can do all that before returning to the Cotton's home," Sandy added with faked feigned friendliness.

"Alright, then. I will do it." Frodo began to eat, and Sandy returned to his gazette.

Frodo walked down the lane to the fence as quickly as his slightly throbbing back allowed him to. He opened the gate and closed it behind him, continuing on at a decent pace. Before he knew it, he was at the mercantile.

Everyone backed away as he entered. Odd, he thought. A boy backed into him while playing with a friend, and everyone gasped in fear.

The boy's brown eyes watered as he timidly begged, "Please, Mr. Baggins. Please, don't hurt me! I d-didn't mean to, sir, honest!"

Frodo stood there horror-stricken. The little boy was afraid of him – they all were! Questions buzzing in his head, Frodo ran out of the mercantile, not caring about his throbbing back as tears blinded him. The sky, dark with storm clouds, grew even more threatening as thunder sounded and lightning flashed in the distance. No one cared. Even Sandy probably did not truly care. What else could Sandy's eagerness to rid Frodo's presence from his house mean? Everyone thought him a grumpy old hobbit who would hurt someone over the smallest things. No doubt various Sackville-Bagginses had caused this.

Sandy had always acted so standoffish, but Frodo had overlooked it. And, what of the reoccurrence of dreams last night? Did that not prove that Sandy was not who he seemed to be? Then, there was the constant disappearing Sandy did when he was sleeping. Into town, Sandy had said he had gone, but why? Could he not be the cause of some of the fear Frodo had just witnessed in the mercantile?

Frodo thrust his body forward, running through the rain, the mud recoiling beneath his feet. The trees passed by in a blur. Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder roared in the sky, and the wind howled as it gusted by, pushing everything in its path. Frodo nearly stumbled into a tree, but his eyes, keen from the morgul stab, spotted it before hand.

Why had everyone believed a lie? That hurt him the most. They all knew him so well before the Quest. How had they come to fear him so? Sam had become the unlikely hero, that he had known and respected, but this fear that his fellow hobbits possessed toward him was unnatural. How did they believe that he was – well, whatever it was they thought he was? He had been a gentlehobbit, well-to-do, simply a member of the community, yet they thought the Quest had changed him so much. It had changed him, but he would not act any different. He would not hurt his beloved kin. Had he not shown that when he refused to bear a sword in their battle against Saruman and Grima? Had he not shown that through going to Mordor and nearly dying so they could continue in freedom?

Frodo reached the bridge, no longer crying, but he bore a pained expression. He clutched the railing tightly.

"This is it, Frodo; this is it," he murmured to himself in the dark as rain began to fall. His breath was shallow. "It's now or never. No one is here to stop you." Frodo began to sob, afraid to do the crime he was thinking of committing.

Never in his life had Frodo felt more alone, more frightened, more rejected in his life. Never before had he needed someone as much as he did, standing there above the flowing stream.

The rain pelted down in the pretense of a storm upon the jagged rocks that towered slightly over the brook. Frodo did not even notice the water hitting his face.

"Come on, jump. You need to do it. No one can stop you. No one cares what happens to you anymore. There's no point to living, fool! Jump; jump…" Tears came down his face, intertwining with the raindrops. "Come now, sit down on the railing and fall, plummeting to the waiting rocks below. Quickly, now."

Frodo moaned softly as he stepped onto the railing and lowered his body to a sitting position.

"Mister Frodo?" came a familiar voice faintly through the roaring pit-pat of the rain falling from the heavens above. "Mr. Frodo?!"

"Go away, Sam."

"Mister Frodo, what are you doing?" Sam asked, hoping he was not witnessing what he knew deep down he was witnessing.

"I think you know, Sam. Now go away," Frodo demanded, his voice harsh to cover the fact that he was crying.

"Why, Mr. Frodo; why!?" Sam shouted to be heard over the rainfall.

"No one cares about me, not even you!"

"Yes, I do! So do Merry and Pippin!"

"How do I know that? You abandoned me. So often since we returned. Then, Merry hardly came over, and when he did, the visits were short-lived. Pip's the only one of you three that even slightly seems to care!"

"That's not true, Mr. Frodo, sir! Sure, I reckon I done gone off too much, but ya see, sir, I had to. I'm here now, ain't I? Please, Mr. Frodo, let me show you something, give me one chance to prove it to you, and if what you see don't prove it, then, you can come back here," Sam replied hurriedly. He only hoped what he wanted to show him – the reason he was gone so long – would make his friend reconsider.

"What could you possibly have to show me that would prove you to be my friend?" Frodo asked; his head cocked as he was listening.

"Sir, it's a surprise. You got to trust me, Mr. Frodo. Please, just this once? I'll – I'll let you come back here and do what you set out to do. It's the whole reason I gone off so much – a surprise for you. Please Mr. Frodo!" Tears choked Sam's voice now.

Frodo began to stir, "Alright, but when I don't see it prove anything close to you being my true friend, I am coming back here." Suddenly, Frodo screamed. He thrust his body to try to grab hold of the railing with his other hand, succeeding only in making his one hand slip on the wet railing.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam screamed, rushing to the aid of his friend.

Frodo's body dangled and he looked down. He quickly looked up, fear filling his face. Sam looked painfully down at his master's helpless form revealed by the small amount of moonlight allowed to shine through the dark clouds and blanket of rain. Frodo began more violently to thrust his body toward the railing. "Help me!" he screamed before his hand completely slipped off the railing.

Like a flash of lightning, Sam's hands quickly grabbed Frodo's. He struggled to pull his friend back up, and his efforts seemed in vain until suddenly he slipped, falling backwards, pulling Frodo's body upon his own.

Frodo stood instantaneously. "Come now, let's go see this little thing you want to show me." He was shocked, though he did not show it in any way, that Sam had rescued him. Perhaps he is a friend indeed, he thought hopefully, but a stronger voice replied, More likely he needs you to find Bilbo's treasure in the ruins of Bag End. Frodo shook his head violently.

"Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam with genuine concern.

"Yes," Frodo replied curtly. "Now, let's go quickly."

Frodo could not understand it. Why was Samwise taking him to the site of his former home? It had been destroyed. Nothing was there, save ruins of the walls and furniture that had made and decorated the home. It is as I said. He is after the treasure, Frodo thought sadly.

Sam led on, his face sober yet stoic as he thought of what had almost happened to his friend. He had just been on his way to town to find Frodo and tell him some wonderful news. Then, the storm came in and he had found Frodo climbing on the railing of the bridge. To him, it had only meant one thing.

But why had Frodo wanted to do something like that? He had said no one was his friend. What had given him that idea? Perhaps they – no, he – should have spent more time with his friend. Were the emotional effects of bearing the Ring so long deeper than just a few bad dreams as Frodo had let on?

Sam shook his head sadly before rounding a corner, the corner on which hinged all his hopes of his friend, his master deciding to persevere, to go on, any hope of Frodo viewing life as worthwhile and valuable. The wooden door glistened in the sunlight, including the perfectly centered doorknob. The windows sparkled. The newly restored hobbit hole looked inviting. Sam turned his head to see Frodo's reaction.

Frodo's face remained stoic even though inside his heart caught in his throat from pure excitement. Amazed, he walked up to the fence post and ran his hand around the adorning ball. Slowly, he walked to the door and turned the knob. It seemed to him that his own limbs were hesitant to move, afraid it was all just another dream. How he wished Bilbo were there! His knees were wobbly, but he found strength to go on. "Good workmanship," Frodo noted, still without any sign of emotion. "Who did this?"

"Merry, Pippin, and I, sir," replied Sam, cheeks crimson.

Frodo turned to look his gardener in the eyes. "You did?"

"Yes, sir. We did. That's why we ain't been out much to visit you like we should." Sam shifted, silently hoping Frodo was at least entertaining the idea that they could be trusted.

Frodo turned the knob and stepped inside. The furniture had carefully been made to look like that which had been destroyed. Everything was precisely where it had been when Frodo had sold it to Lobelia begrudgingly a year ago. "Wh-who did this?" he asked, near to crying tears of happiness. Someone did care enough to do this for him!

"My gaffer made the frames; my mother made the cushions with Rosie's help, and Merry, Pip, and me placed everything," Sam answered earnestly.

"And you all did this for me?"

"Yes, cousin," Merry said as he and Pippin emerged from behind the wall.

"For me?" Frodo repeated. He received assuring nods from all three of his companions. Frodo fell to his knees, facing his cousins and his arms uplifted, tears threatening to spill. "All this for me, while I was thinking badly of you? While I was being selfish? I don't deserve this; I don't deserve all of this." Frodo remained on his knees in disbelief. His eyes saw all that surrounded him; his ears heard his friend's voices; he felt his surroundings. This was not a dream, but reality. "Thank you," came a quiet voice as he stood and hugged and kissed each of his friends on the foreheads. "Would you please forgive me?" Tears flowed freely now.

"Of course we will, Frodo," Pippin replied with a smile as he embraced his cousin. "In fact, nothing needs to be forgiven," added Pippin quickly as an elbow landed on his ribs.

Frodo smiled shyly. I'm not alone, Frodo realized. I was never alone.

A/N: Please, review, and let me know if you want a sequel. /hint, hint/