Day 19 (cont.) "Past Future"
A.N. Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. It was as difficult for me to write as it was for Frodo to endure. Hope you enjoy it. Please leave a review. ...Tulip
The silvery swan ship slipped silently out of the mist and into a flat empty sea. Thin bands of high filmy clouds crisscrossed overhead in the sparkling air. Frodo ducked his head in an attempt to be out of the way of the Elvish crew as they silently climbed high into the rigging and unfurled all sails. A slight breeze caught the bright embroidered canvas, and the ship gained enough speed to cause small, frothy wakes to break at the prow and a glistening iridescent wake to form behind.
"Are we through the enchanted seas now, Gandalf?" Frodo twisted against his silken bindings. He had been standing, lashed to the sturdy main mast for what seemed like hours and hours. The bright Western sunshine and calm seas after such a long time in the dense warm fog was a blessed relief.
"I cannot tell for certain," the wizard enigmatically replied, "but I do not wish to take any chances. You will remain as you are."
"But there is absolutely nothing around for miles and miles," Frodo protested. "I cannot even see the isles behind. Please untie me for a little while so I might stretch my legs. I have been standing for a very long time, and…truth be told…I really could use a pee break."
Gandalf chuckled slightly but shook his head. "No, Frodo Baggins. I will not release you from your bindings yet. I expected you to ask for this sooner. I do not mean to sound cruel, but I will not untie you until I am positive we have left the Enchanted Seas."
Frodo sighed and resigned himself to another hour of discomfort. He decided to concentrate on the blood-red luminous orb, which was rapidly moving towards the western horizon. Beautiful sunset clouds gathered round the disk in layers of vibrant colors: purples, lavenders, pale sage greens, pinks and striking golds against the cyan sky.
Frodo watched the brilliant sunset for quite a few minutes before he noticed a sound he had not heard in weeks. "Gandalf! Listen! Gulls! There must be land ahead."
The wizard said nothing, but looked up into the sky. Frodo's heart beat stronger in anticipation as the gulls circled the ship, then formed a noisy entourage behind the stern, diving into the slight wake and bringing up bright silver fish.
Shortly afterwards, an isle appeared slightly to the North of the sinking sun. The water before reflected a golden path towards the isle.
"Gandalf? Is that Tol Eressea?" Frodo asked.
"I do not know, Frodo," the wizard replied. "It might be, if we have indeed passed through the Enchanted Sea."
Within thirty minutes the ship had reached the eastern-most tip of the isle. Runners from the Captain caused a flurry of activity, as the main and top sails were furled and the ship's speed slowed in order to safely navigate around the rocky shoals and occasional sandbars visible in the warm sunset seas. Small floating buoys with clanging sea-bells sang their warning of underwater dangers.
"People must live here," Frodo said.
"Indeed," Gandalf replied.
Frodo could see lush green mountains falling into deep fiords. Many sparkling waterfalls tumbled and cascaded into the sea from unseen streams and rivers whose origins could not readily be seen due to the lush undergrowth and tangled vines. Curly rust fern heads sprouted from massive trunks as the ship slowly passed a section of land supporting fern-trees and flowering forest floor bushes. Butterflies of velvet black, spotted orange, vibrant yellow and borealis blue flitted through the crystalline air.
As the ship quietly slipped through the waters, massive woodlands gave way to rolling hills of golden grass. Grey, black and white-fleeced sheep grazed contentedly upon the slopes until they caught sight of the ship; at which they turned and bolted back into the inland countryside. Wild herds of deer, the fawn's spotted coats shimmering in the light, occasionally were visible when forest edge met grassy meadow. Gradually, the hillsides descended into pastures with neatly manicured hedgerows and rustic wooden step gates.
"Gandalf?" Frodo could hardly turn his eyes from the intriguingly familiar shoreline. It seemed so familiar, yet so unfamiliar. As if he had dreamed this landscape for years and years. "Is…is this Tol Eressea? It must be. I've dreamed of this place."
Gandalf looked intently at the large verdant island, but remained silent.
Frodo was about to say something, when he heard a voice on the wind. The ship was rounding a peninsula, turning slightly North. "Do you hear that?" Frodo could not make out the words, but it definitely was a voice intermixed with the gull cries.
"What do you hear?" Gandalf asked.
"People," Frodo replied. "And music. I hear music. Fiddle music. It…. Wait. That sounds like Shandy's tavern band." Frodo frowned slightly. "This can not be right. I mean, that sounds like a fiddle and dumbac and bass. I did not think Tol Eressea would have hobbit music. Or would it, Gandalf?"
"I hear nothing, Frodo," Gandalf said.
"Look! We've reached it!" If he were not restrained, Frodo would have run to the side rail for a better view. "There are people! There are hobbits!" The music was now predominate over the call of the seabirds. As the ship rounded a sand spit, neat orchards and small gardens came into view. He could see a few hobbits working in the lush fields and walking down cobblestone roads. As the island's populace caught sight of the Elvish swan ship, the hobbits pointed, dropped their work and started running towards a small town which came into view.
The town was a neat, tidy village beside a small, clear lake connected to a tiny bay by way of a tree-lined river. Thatched low-hanging roofs above familiar round doors and windows defined the houses outlining a communal market. Typical hobbit smials dug into gently rising hillsides could be seen nestled into copes and hilltops framing the little town and facing the placid lake and marketplace. There was even a stone mill and arched bridge connecting the lake with the small river running down to the sea.
"This can't be," Frodo stammered.
"Tell me what you see, Frodo," Gandalf quietly prompted.
"My stars," Frodo whispered, "it's Hobbiton." He strained against the ropes to get a better view. "The Shire of my past. The Shire the way it should have been."
The hobbits gathered into the town market, staring at the ship and pointing.
"Look! An Elf ship!" Frodo could hear one small child's voice above the general talking. "Look, Mamma. Isn't it pretty? Are there real Elves on it?"
"Of course. See? There are Elves up in the sails."
Something was in his eyes. Frodo abruptly realized he was crying. Waves of homesickness overcame him as he took in what was presented to him. This was his home. His Shire. But somehow untouched by the evil inflicted upon it by Saruman or the Ring. This shire was beautiful and unspoiled. Every hobbit he could see was clean and healthy. There were many joyful children running about, clapping their tiny hands in delight at seeing the great grey ship gliding past their Hobbiton.
"Look, Mommy! A swan!" A tiny brown-haired lass jumped up and down, waving her hands in spasmodic excitement.
"Yes, dearest. Isn't it grand?" The girl's mother took her hand and started walking towards a wooden jetty in the little bay. "Maybe they will stop and visit."
With a start, Frodo recognized the lady. It was Lidia Chiswell, the Hobbiton seamstress. The lass was little Penny, her youngest. Frodo suddenly recognized all the people gathered in the marketplace. He could pick them out either by sight or by their voice. There was Shandy Merryweather coming out of the Green Dragon Inn, fiddle in one hand and a beer mug in the other. Chas Limekiln, the proprietor also came out, wiping his hands on his apron and waving in Frodo's direction. Old Mayor Will Whitfoot stood next to Mrs. Smallburrows and her fish cart. Tom Cotton was coming in from a field, driving a cart load of cabbages. Mr. Hornblower was sitting (as usual) outside his baker's shop, fanning himself in the sunset's final rays. Many of the people had their hands up, shading their eyes as they peered into the Western sun, trying to make out details of the ship going past.
"Look! It's Frodo! Frodo Baggins! He's on that boat!"
Frodo turned to see Fredigar Bolger standing on the wharf and pointing towards him.
"Fatty?"
"Ho, Frodo!" the aptly nicknamed hobbit called back, waving wildly. "What are you doing on that bloody great boat?"
Frodo couldn't reply immediately, for a tremendous lump had suddenly become lodged in his throat. Fatty looked so normal and, well, fat. Not the skinny starved Frederic of the Shire after its scouring by Saruman. In fact, all the hobbits looked in perfect health and in perfect harmony with their surroundings.
"Frodo Baggins! Are you being held against your will?" Mayor Whitfoot called out, as he and several more Hobbiton citizens joined Fatty Bolger on the wharf. "We can send a team to rescue you if you are." The Mayor looked concerned and was gesturing for Hef Smallburrows to untie his boat.
"No, your honor," Frodo called out. "I am fine, thank you."
"Then come home, Mr. Baggins," the Mayor yelled back. "You've been gone far too long. We have all been waiting for you."
"The Mayor's right, Frodo," Fatty joined in. "It's time to come home."
Frodo sadly shook his head.
The ship slowly drifted past the village. Frodo couldn't help but name it Hobbiton, for truly it was the Hobbiton of his heart. The townsfolk followed the ship's passage as best they could along the main town road, but stopped at the edge of the village. A well-tended stone road lined with tall, lush chestnuts and trim heath hedges in yellow blossom paralleled the ship's progress. Several children ran along the road, yelling questions at Frodo which he could not answer. The children skipped and laughed, waving wildly at the ship and tossing flowers and handfulls of grass in its general direction. Older hobbits emerged from neat smials along the roadway and smiled.
"Oh no," Frodo murmured, as he recognized the familiar tree-lined zigzag turns leading up into low hills. "Bag Shot Row." He dreaded what might happen. "Surely not," Frodo begged, and looked at Gandalf, who was as a stone beside him.
Frodo returned his gaze to the hillside, and saw a golden-haired lass of about age four get up from sitting under an apple tree playing with a rag doll. She ran to the cheerful yellow door of the lowest smial on the lane. Her simple blue frock caught upon a red rose bush planted next to the entranceway. She impatiently tugged it free and disappeared inside. "Mummie! Daddy!"
Then it happened.
The door to Bag Shot Row #3 opened and out stepped Samwise Gamgee. Frodo could see Sam on the doorstep, peering anxiously out at the Elf-ship. Their eyes locked across the surprisingly short distance; clear hazel to sky-blue. Frodo thought his heart would stop beating as Sam broke into a beatific smile. The golden-haired girl pulled Rosie Cotton outside the smial. Rose was holding a dark-haired infant in her arms.
"Look, Mom! It's the ship with Mr. Frodo from Dad's stories." Her voice carried so well in the clear air it was as if she were standing at Frodo's feet.
Sam's Gaffer followed to complete the little family. Even the Gaffer was hale and healthy; not bent with age and woe as the last time Frodo saw him.
The ship's progress had slowed to a crawl, despite the constant fresh breeze blowing towards land. The sun had set, but Frodo could see quite clearly in the fading light.
"Sam? Rose?" Frodo could remain silent no longer.
"It's great to see you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said with all the love Frodo had ever known wrapped up in those simple, honest words. "What are you doin' still on the boat? You're supposed to come on home now. Me and me Gaffer got Bag End all ready for you."
"That's right, Mr. Frodo," the Gaffer added. Pride in his accomplishment radiated from his being. "Everything's ready for you. Everyone's waiting."
"You can come to us right now," Sam added. "It's not a far swim from your boat to the shore. I know you can swim. It's no more than a hundred yards or so. Come on. You need to come home now."
"Don't worry about bringing anything with you," Rose called out. "We've got everything you need already up at Bag End." She turned and bounced the baby on her hip. He rewarded her with a delightful giggle.
"Mommy? Is Uncle Fro going to go home now?" the little golden-haired girl tugged on her mother's brown skirt, kicking some loose pebbles with her bare feet.
"Yes, Elanor," Rose replied. "He's coming home at last."
Frodo swallowed another lump in his throat. 'It would be so easy,' he thought. 'They look so happy. So carefree.'
He turned to Gandalf. "How is this possible?" Frodo strained against the ropes to get a better view of the group.
"Ask."
Frodo thought about it for a moment. 'Sam will tell me the truth,' he decided. Sam had never lied to anyone. "Sam!" Frodo called out. "Why are you at #3 and not at Bag End?"
"Cause this ain't the same Shire you left," Sam replied. "We aren't in Middle Earth no more. This is the Shire the way it was supposed to be. The way it would be if none of that awful stuff had happened. This Shire was made for you and me." Sam smiled and opened his arms wide. "Come on, Mr. Frodo. I decided to stay, and I have everything I ever wanted. This…this is where you belong. This is what you really want, isn't it?"
A trickle of a tear coursed down Frodo's cheek.
"This is the life we were supposed to live," Sam hugged Rose to himself. "I found it. You can have it too. But I can't carry you this time. You have to do this for yourself. All you have to do is come ashore. Then everything will be perfect. We're all waiting for you."
"That's right, Master Baggins," the Gaffer said. "Yer folk are awaitin' fer ye too."
"My folk?" Frodo asked.
"That's right, Mr. Frodo," Rosie said. "Your folk are all up at Bag End. See?" She pointed up the road towards the familiar large tree and multiple round windows and doors at the top of the hill. Tall sunflowers, colorful snapdragons and a riot of asters and sweet baby's breath lined the flagstone stairs past the old white-washed wooden gate leading up to the main entrance.
Frodo saw two people standing just outside Bag End's circular green door. He strained against the ropes to get a better view of the elderly couple. They looked familiar, yet….
"Oh, sweet Elbereth, it…it can't be." Frodo's mouth hung open in surprise. He gulped. "Mother? Father?" he whispered. It was his parents, but not as he remembered them. It was as if they had not died, but continued to age normally. They appeared as normal, healthy well-to-do hobbits in late middle age.
Primula smiled and slipped her arm about her husband's waist. She waved. "Oh, Frodo, it's been such a long time. We're so happy you've finally come home." She tucked away a stray curl of greying brown hair which had come loose in the gentle breeze.
Drogo Baggins was fairly bursting with pride. Frodo was certain the brass buttons of his rich green waistcoat would pop off. Drogo pulled the long-stemmed wooden pipe from his lips and curls of pearly smoke drifted across the intervening space. Longbottom Leaf mixed with a hint of Brandywine Best; his father's favorite smoke.
"My boy!" Drogo boomed. "Welcome home. Your mother and I have kept everything ready for you." He turned to his wife. "Mother? Where's …"
"I'm here," a gentle alto voice interrupted.
She stepped out from behind the green door and joined his parents on the stoop of his home. Frodo had never seen her before in the Shire, but he knew her intimately. She was always in his dreams. The lass with hair the same as his, and eyes of deepest midnight black. She wore a dress of dusty dark blue. Golden ribbons controlled her lush raven tresses. As she turned slightly, Frodo's heart leapt to his throat.
She was in the final month of pregnancy. She rested her milk-white hands across her swollen belly and smiled.
"The baby's really kicking. He wants to see his father. It won't be long now. Mistress Hornblower says it's this week for certain, but Rosie and I think next week. I'm so happy you've arrived in time."
Hot tears of love, longing and frustration coursed down Frodo's flushed cheeks. He twisted against the Elvish bindings in an effort to free himself, hardly noticing the blood trickling into his fists as the ropes sliced into his wrists. He was going to be a father!
"Yes!" he cried into the salty sea wind. "Yes! This is what I truly want! Gandalf. Gandalf, please, let me go!"
"What is it you want, Frodo?" the wizard softly asked.
"Can't you see? Can't you hear? It's my life over there! The way it was supposed to be. A normal, healthy life." He was shuttering uncontrollably now; pent-up emotions spewing forth in a hot torrent of inner turmoil.
"Normal! That's all I wanted to be. Normal! Like everyone else. Like Fatty. Like Sam! Like my father. I didn't want to be the Ringbearer. I didn't ask to be a hero. I only wanted to be normal. I was always the different one. Always the loner. Queer Baggins, they called me. They laughed at me and Bilbo because we had different friends like you and the dwarves; because we read the old Elvish languages and liked books; because we cared. I only wanted to be normal.
"Well, I don't want to care anymore. I want to be numb. I want to be left alone by the powers of the world. I want to be like everyone else and just live a normal life!"
Frodo turned to Gandalf. "Look. It's there for me. Sam said it was made for him and me. And I want it. I want my parents alive again. I want to be married and raise a family. I want to re-live my life like everyone else. She's there. I'm going to be a father! I want to be a father! I want the Shire again. Look! Look, Gandalf! It's there! I can have that. I need that. Please, please release me. Let me go to them."
Gandalf sighed. "Frodo, I cannot see what you are experiencing. But remind me. What happens to you in your dream when you try to return to Middle Earth?"
"What?" Frodo was disturbed by the wizard's seemingly nonsensical question. "What does my dream have to do with this? This is my Tol Eressea. This is how I am healed." Frodo was beside himself with longing and a strong, overwhelming desire to break his bonds, leap off the ship and swim to shore.
The trio at the Bag End reached out their arms to him, beckoning him towards their love. The beautiful dark-haired lass cradled her enormous belly. "Your baby needs his father, Frodo," she called.
"Mr. Frodo's right, Mr. Gandalf, sir," Sam called out. "Come on, Mr. Frodo. Come to us now. There's not much time left, sir. You know I would come get you, if I could, but I can't. You have to swim to us. I know you can do it. I did it. You can too. Come on." There was a sense of urgency in Sam's strong voice. The ship was slowly, but surely pulling away from the isle.
Frodo suddenly stopped straining at the ropes. Something Sam said didn't quite ring true. The doubt which Gandalf had planted took hold.
"Sam?" Frodo said, uncertainly, "What did you just say?"
"I said 'Come on,'" Sam yelled. "I did it. You have to do it too."
Frodo sagged back against the wooden mast. "You couldn't have done this, Sam," he whispered. "You can't swim."
With one last, longing look at Bag End and the lass who carried his child, he said, "…and I don't even know your name. I'm sorry Mother. Father. I'm so sorry Sam. As much as I desire to, I cannot change what I am. I cannot undo the past. I cannot come home."
The isle slipped into a soft lilac twilight mist which seemed to have been poised just off the ship's rail. Dusk settled upon the ocean as the swan ship's sails filled and left the isle behind. The gulls circled the ship one last time, then departed into the twilight dark, their cries muffled into a lonely wail, then silence.
Within a few minutes the Elvish crew had removed the cotton from their ears and had released the other passengers who had remained below decks during their passage through the Enchanted Isles.
Gandalf cut the bonds binding Frodo to the mast, and he sank exhausted into the wizards arms. Lord Elrond appeared and bound Frodo's wounds with soft white cloths while the hobbit sniffed back his tears. A worried Bilbo appeared with a glass of sparkling wine, which Frodo gratefully drank.
"I wish you hadn't elected to subject yourself to that," Gandalf whispered, "but you acquitted yourself bravely."
"You designed the last trial, didn't you?" Frodo sniffed. "That was almost more than I could bear."
"Yes, I helped design that last isle," Gandalf said. "But it was mostly the work of my mentor in Valinor. The isle senses your inmost, deepest held emotional desire never spoken aloud, and presents it to you. I am curious though, Frodo. Could you describe the lady you said was the wife of your dreams?"
"She has dark hair like mine, and eyes jet black with the stars in them," Frodo bowed his head. "Pale skin, yet her hands are callused and her arms are strong. When she speaks, it is always words of encouragement. I have seen her in my dreams all my life, but I do not know her name. She always comes to me when I am in despair."
"Her name is Nienna," Gandalf replied. "The Valar of pity and endurance beyond hope. My mentor. You have always been beloved by her. Perhaps you will meet her in Tol Eressea."