His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom. -Aragorn, The Return of the King
Queen Arwen looked kindly upon Frodo, and lifted a white gem from around her neck and placed it around his. "But wear this now in memory of Elfstone and Evenstar with whom your life has been woven! When the memory of the fear and the darkness troubles you, this will bring you aid."
Frodo laid his hand over the white gem as it hung upon his breast. "You have my thanks, Queen Evenstar. He bowed, and then withdrew, his brow creased in thought. When he came from the fountain into the great Hall, Gandalf was waiting, looking out one of the windows of that high place.
He gave Frodo a quick glance. "The gift is well-given, I see."
"Yes," Frodo replied. He held up the stone and looked at it curiously. "What are its properties?"
"You will discover yourself in time, I do not doubt. I trust you will not forget the qualities most desired by the elves and so part of all their works: understanding and preserving that which is."
Frodo nodded and joined Gandalf at the window. It was amazingly large, more than ten feet high and half again as wide, and set with many panes of glass; rich and marvelous it still seemed to him. Four more like it marched down the length of the Hall, matched by windows on the other side.
"The Queen spoke of Bilbo," he said. The diffident tone of his voice could not conceal the longing underlying the words. "Of the last journey that he would undertake."
"That decision lies before you, as well, Frodo."
"Is my future as bleak as that?" Frodo asked softly.
Gandalf raised his eyebrows, and looked at Frodo sternly. "Frodo, my dear and best-beloved hobbit, your future is your own. If I have learned anything, it is that to see what a hobbit may or may not do, or endure or overcome... Well, it cannot be seen, not by me or by any of the Wise. Your deeds have given you the reward of a choice, such as has not been offered to any other mortal since time out of mind. And the reward of companions on that last journey, if undertaken."
"I had only thought of staying in the Shire. Seeing Bilbo once again. I long for my homeland, Gandalf. And yet… " Frodo paused, tracing one of the panes of glass absently with one finger. "And yet, I do wish to go West with Bilbo. What would your counsel be, Gandalf? Grant me your advice, old friend!"
The wizard's eyes twinkled, as he looked at Frodo with deep affection. "You have no need of my counsel, Frodo. You see clearly and wisely, and that gift will only increase in the days to come. Trust in your heart and your feelings, my friend. They will not lead you astray." He touched Frodo's shoulder gently. "I am proud to be your friend, Frodo. Do not mis-understand yourself or your achievements. This reward is well deserved. The Lords of Valinor have judged it so."
18 July 1419 (S.R.)I return to these notes on the eve of my departure from the White City of Gondor. This Blue Book goes with me, on this journey home and on that last journey that may lie after. Contained in its pages is much of horror. But its covers are beautiful, fair, and marked with the sigil of a City I shall always remember in love and friendship. And so, by honor and love the horror is contained, and even overturned. I would cherish it for that reason alone, even if it had taught me nothing else.
I have recorded a great deal of my experiences under the Shadow, including notes and annotations from the Archive of Minas Tirith, and a record of the first days of the rule of King Elessar. I have faced that which I feared I could not, and taken full account of the various hurts and indignities inflicted on my body and mind.
But have I achieved my original goal, that of understanding my failure? I look back over the pages of information herein, and I see I have not. I can trace the long slow decline of my will, from the Council to Orodruin. But I cannot conclusively identify the point at which that decline's outcome could have been altered.
There are possibilities, to be sure, and the reader can probably identify some of those possibilities as easily as I can. If Gandalf had not fallen. If Boromir had not been taken by Ring-lust. If Gollum had repented. If I had not run heedlessly into the snare of Cirith Ungol.
If I might have resisted long enough for one more step…but that is the final mystery, that I did not, and that Middle-earth, and I, still survived…to which all the other 'what ifs' lead.
The reader will forgive me for saying that I might as well wish that I had not been born! Or that Bilbo had not, or that Gollum had not. Many of these events occurred with little assistance from me, yet affected me profoundly. And each single event does not seem weighty enough to inevitably carry the outcome. As silk threads in a tapestry become indistinguishable when woven together so did the events of the War of the Ring combine to lead to its destruction.
I would only wish, if wishing were of any use that I had not fallen to the Ring as I did. I have felt the shame of it every day since. I remember those last few minutes; but I cannot pierce their mystery. I did what I did, and do not excuse myself for it.
As for why? That may be forever unanswerable. As mortals gifted with free will, we imagine that we act from definable reasons, whether it is honor, necessity, or overpowering emotion. But sometimes this delusion fails and we realize that we have acted, for reasons that are not only unknown but also perhaps even unknowable. That I should have come so far to fail so decidedly, one step away from success, is nearly unbearable. But the enormous tapestry of Middle-earth mocks my small concerns. The Ring was destroyed despite my actions. I am only one little hobbit, and flawed. I must bear the burden of that knowledge, but I can hope that it will not be too heavy.
When I return to the Shire, that wondrously innocent land, I will walk in the greenways and along the little rivers. I will listen to the wind's tidings as it sings in the trees along the Water, and look for Entwives. Perhaps I will venture into the Old Forest, before it begins to fade. I will not be respectable, for I will watch for Elves and dwarves and even entertain them. Sam will be with me, and we shall spoil our nieces, nephews, and young cousins. We will tell stories to the children at festivals, and be profligate with gifts, laughter, and song. I will pass along a little of what I have learned with such pain.
Bilbo will pass over into the West, and I believe I may follow him, as I did once before. I will hear the sound of the Sea, the sound that lives in my soul. But first, I will linger yet awhile in this beautiful Middle-earth, and savor the precious youth of my countrymen. Only then would I go, and perhaps Sam with me, and over Sea my burdens will be set down at last.
The End
Frodo Baggins