Scars of the Future
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Theywere created by the amazing minds of J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien.
A/N: This fic was not created by myself alone. It was done inscript format over Instant Messenger by myself and Animagus-Spirit. This fic and most of the events in it are her brilliant ideas, I have just taken the task to write it. Therefore, this fic is dedicated to her. You're the greatest!
Chapter 26: Master Baggins's Departures
Frodo carefully folded his Mithril vest and placed it in his pack. His eyes wandered slowly around the room, looking for anything he'd forgotten, and seeing none he tied the bag closed. After ensuring that the star-glass and pendant were both with him, he set his things by the bedroom door. He then turned and glanced out of the window at the bright afternoon sky, but his eye snagged on something else. A soft gasp escaped his lips and he stepped quickly to the window.
The flower box, once completely barren of anything, overflowed with an abundance of flowers, from snapdragons to marigolds to chrysanthemums. They exploded in color—reds and whites, yellows and oranges, all straight and fresh with no wilt on them.
Astounded, Frodo opened the window and tentatively reached a hand toward them, wanting to touch but fearing they would become an illusion and disappear. But his flesh brushed soft petals, and after caressing the flora he bent and inhaled. The aroma was strong and pleasant—fresh and smelling of new life. He sighed, caught up in contentedness for the first time in several days. He smiled.
Sam had left with such abruptness that Frodo had leapt from disbelief to rage to depression in a matter of minutes. He'd felt tricked, almost, as if Sam had just decided on impulse to leave, without any conclusion or farewell, without a true goodbye. The voice Frodo had heard in his head in those last few moments may have been Sam, but more likely it had been himself, realizing subconsciously what was about to transpire and attempting therefore to ease the pain. To make excuses.
Whatever the truth, Sam's life hadn't ended properly—it had been sudden, without preparation. If Frodo had been able to prepare, he assumed, he could have let go more easily. Instead, he was left with words he should have said but never did. Had he had that, his heart wouldn't be so heavy with remorse.
But this…these flowers, they were that conclusion, those unspoken words. Here was Sam's parting gift—his final sign that his soul was at peace and that he was happy. It symbolized hope to Frodo, a reason to go on. A light had gone out, but it would be relit. Other doors always opened when one closed. Frodo need no longer plead to the Valar for time to be turned back—because Sam was all right, this was proof, and if Sam was, Frodo felt that he could go on, too.
Frodo rested a moment on the window seat, allowing a calm to settle within him. The Fellowship would be departing that evening, and while he knew he should be dreading his final farewells, he wasn't. Since the death of his parents, Frodo hadn't said goodbye to anyone if he could help it, preferring to slip off unnoticed, but somehow he felt these would be unavoidable.
There was a soft knock on his door and Frodo looked up. Harry stood in the doorway and walked in. "Hey," he said.
"Hello, Harry." Frodo smiled warmly.
Harry glanced around the room, not meeting Frodo's eyes. "So," he said. "Er…how are you?"
"Better," said Frodo. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. And yourself?"
Harry nodded. "Can't complain, I guess."
Silence fell between them for a moment, and Frodo could sense that Harry felt uncomfortable. "Harry?" he asked. "Is there something you wanted?"
Harry glanced up. "Well, yeah, actually. I really just wanted to thank you, you know, for everything you've done this summer. And I wanted to say I'm sorry about…about what happened." He said it all rather quickly.
Frodo offered a small smile. "It's all right," he said. "You needn't thank me, and you had no control over…over Sam's death." He looked down, blinking furiously. Though the pain had eased somewhat that morning, it was still there.
"Pippin says you're leaving tonight."
Frodo nodded. "Yes. We've done all we needed to here." He looked up again. "It's been a pleasure knowing you for even this short time, Harry."
"Yeah," said Harry, nodding, "you too."
They looked at each other a moment longer until Frodo stood up. "Have you seen Sirius? I need to speak with him."
"No, but he's probably around here somewhere. Try outside; he's been spending a lot of time out now that his name's cleared." Harry grinned.
"Thank you," said Frodo as he left the room and made for the front door.
Sirius was indeed on the porch, listening to Remus read aloud from the Daily Prophet. Frodo came and sat with them.
"Morning, Frodo!" Sirius said with a grin. "It's good to see you out and about."
Frodo smiled back. "It's nice to be out."
Sirius laughed. "You're telling me," he said.
"I suppose you know we're leaving tonight," said Frodo quietly.
Sirius's smile vanished. "Yeah, I heard that."
"Do you know when, exactly, Frodo?" Remus asked, folding the Prophet and setting it on the step beside him.
Frodo shrugged. "Just tonight, I suppose not long after dinner."
"It's a shame you couldn't have stayed longer. You could have gone to see Diagon Alley, or Hogwarts even. But I suppose now you're ready to return," Remus said.
Frodo didn't say anything. Remus and Sirius exchanged glances.
"You don't want to go home?" Sirius asked.
Frodo shrugged again. "It's complicated. A large part of me longs to see home again, but an even larger part isn't ready to face home. There will be so many questions regarding Sam…and Rosie…I can't imagine telling her what happened…" He paused a moment. "But in truth I meant to leave years ago, you know, and since my heart hasn't truly been in the Shire. I want to sail West, but I now have to look after Sam's family, and I fear that Tol Eressea will prolong my life further."
"Do you want to die, Frodo?" Remus questioned.
"I'm simply tired, Remus. I hardly look a day over fifty when I should look at least twenty years older than that. But the combined effects of the Ring and this time-travel business seem to have, according to Gandalf, made my life even longer. And still I have this tearing pain inside me from ancient wounds, and a gnawing guilt that's been with me for years. It's a terrible burden to live with, and I've already bourn it long enough. The Lonely Isle was meant to give me peace before passing on, but now it shall be several more years before I can take that route."
The wizards frowned. "It doesn't seem fair," said Remus, but Sirius added, "Not that life's ever been fair."
Frodo nodded. "I know. Which is why I have to merely bear it."
They departed that evening after dinner and the sun had set. No sleeping draughts were needed, for Albus and Gandalf together had managed to create a portkey back to Minas Tirith. The Fellowship gathered as one around it, placing fingers or elbows or whatever could reach upon it, and then, suddenly, they were gone.
Arwen greeted them jubilantly when they arrived. She moved immediately to Aragorn and threw herself in his arms, where they shared a long, tender kiss. Frodo smiled at this, but couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness. Here was Aragorn, a husband returning to his wife from war, a wonderful sight, but Frodo couldn't help but think about another husband who would not be returning.
They feasted well that night, and after the meal there was singing and dancing. Frodo managed to slip out into the garden, where he sat on a bench and gazed at the stars, not thinking, merely sitting and absorbing a strange feeling of safety and comfort.
A week later Frodo, Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin left the city with Sam's body. They did not rush the journey home, stopping when they felt tired or hungry. They stayed in Rohan for a brief spell, and again in Rivendell and in Bree.
Gandalf left them at the Brandywine Bridge, and after visiting Brandy Hall and the Great Smial, Merry and Pippin accompanied Frodo to Bag End.
They were greeted by the youngest children when they arrived, and Frodo beckoned for Merry and Pippin to stay behind at the gate. He walked alone up to the door, and when he arrived Elanor stood there. She looked at him and froze, eyes widening and a hand going to her mouth.
"Ellie," Frodo said, swallowing the lump in his throat, "I need to speak with your mother."
She nodded shakily as Rosie came out from the kitchen. She stopped when she saw the two of them. Frodo stepped towards her.
"No…oh, please, no…"
Frodo didn't have to tell her anything, she knew from his expression. She broke down immediately, falling forward into his arms. He held her, stroking her hair and whispering condolences to her, even while he was struggling to remain strong.
The funeral was held three days later, and Frodo stood with Rosie and the children throughout and after it. It was a beautiful service, and it seemed that at least half the Shire had arrived. They all offered words of comfort, or happy memories, although there were those who, while they said nothing of it, eyes Frodo with scorn or distaste.
And so Frodo took his place as head of Bag End once more. Merry and Pippin stayed with their families in Bag End for a week, helping to organize affairs and keep things running while the family grieved.
It was quite some time before things at Bag End started to run somewhat normally again. Frodo managed it somehow, although how he went on sometimes he didn't know. On the dates of his anniversaries, when he was ill, Merry or Pippin would come and stay with him to ease him through his suffering.
There was a day about three years later when Gandalf came, announcing that he was returning to the future for nothing other than a visit. Frodo declined from joining him, but wrote letters for Gandalf to give to Harry and Sirius. Merry and Pippin remained as well.
When Gandalf returned to the Shire he brought back letters for Frodo. Apparently, things had calmed completely, and Harry now lived in a new house with Sirius, who had ordered Number Twelve to be destroyed. All that remained there was an empty lot, which Sirius had sold to a couple Muggles who planned to build a Bed and Breakfast on it.
The years passed uneventfully for the occupants of Bag End, which was all well with Frodo. There were days when the atmosphere of the hole was cheerful, and then others when it was more solemn than anything.
It was on an autumn night when young Ruby (the third-youngest Gamgee) was nearly of age that Rosie found Frodo sitting in his study, gazing absently out the window to the West. She looked at him sadly. She knew he'd long ago felt the sea-longing. She remembered the day he almost left for it, and recalled her joy that he'd remained.
For the past years since his return from the future, something she still didn't quite understand, Frodo had struggled greatly with controlling his grief and trying to care for his new "family." And while the children had an incredible affect on him—they seemed to increase not only his joy but his health as well—now that they were all older it seemed that his illness, one caused long ago by the Ring, was finally catching up to him.
He became unwell quite easily, and seemed constantly in pain. It had grown steadily worse over the years since Sam's death, and Rosie knew that a large part of the reason was Sam's absence. She'd asked Gandalf once, when he'd visited, why Sam could ease Frodo's suffering so well, and Gandalf could only assume that it was because Sam was, indeed, a sort of tourniquet for Frodo. That because Sam had been Frodo's only true company during the last stretch of the Quest, he had left an imprint on Frodo of love and strength, and that Frodo had ever sense drawn from it.
Now, to Rosie, it was obvious that he was suffering both physically and emotionally. It was nearing the sixth of October, and he was withdrawn, as usual, but already under the shadow of a cold. She observed his white hair and frail body a moment longer, realizing that finally time was beginning to catch up with him. She wondered sadly how much longer had had left.
Stepping to the armchair he sat in, she rested a hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head up at her, and his blue eyes were exhausted and red-rimmed.
"Mr. Frodo, dear, perhaps it'd be best if you went to sleep now. You're awful tired and not too well." Rosie had long ago dropped the "mister" from his name, but she used it occasionally anyway, because it was something Sam had done and it comforted them both to hear it.
He nodded slowly, and she realized he must have been worse than she anticipated, for him to agree without protest. He stood on shaky legs and, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, began treading his way to his bedroom. Rosie looked after him a moment, then went to the kitchen to make him some tea. It was a special kind, one Aragorn had taught Sam to make, and that used athelas leaves and had a remarkable effect on Frodo. Rosie had to cut some of the plant from the garden, and as she stood she surveyed it, shaking her head.
Frodo had agonized for days over what to do with the plot. He first considered hiring a new gardener, and then decided he could never bear it—the garden had been Sam's since he was a lad, and Frodo couldn't remember a time there wasn't Sam or the Gaffer working in it. He'd considered leaving it to grow wild, but knew Sam wouldn't approve of that, either. Finally, he had realized he'd have to care for it himself, though he knew nothing of gardening. He spent hours reading on the subject and talking to Rosie's father, and by the time Frodo thought he knew what to do, the garden hadn't been touched for a month. (He'd hired one of the Cotton boys to care for it while they were gone, traipsing around in the very distant future.)
And while the garden should have been untamed and weedy, it was perfectly clipped and tame. Frodo had recalled the flowers in the window box at Number Twelve, and had decided to leave the garden alone. Sam, it appeared, would continue his work.
He had, too, and even now the garden flourished. Rosie returned to the kitchen, and with the tea made she went to Frodo's room, knocking silently on the door.
"You can come in," he said softly.
She pushed the door open and found him propped up in bed, an unopened book in his lap.
"I brought you tea," she said. "Your special kind."
He smiled. "Thank you, Rosie, dear." He took the cup and drank from it, feeling it warm him on its way down.
Rosie sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is Mr. Merry coming up soon?" she asked him.
"No, Pippin is. Merry was unable to get away. He should be here the day after tomorrow, just before the sixth." A shadow passed briefly across his face.
"I'm glad. They understand better what to do than me, and—"
"Rose, you'd do fine. I just hate to have to worrying over me with the children, I know they keep you rather—" he was interrupted by a coughing fit, but it ended shortly and he drank again from the tea.
Rosie's heart went out to him and she wiped his brow with her handkerchief, noticing that it had become a bit warm. She sighed.
"I've only the three left now," she said. "And they're all nearly of age, old enough to care for themselves if I can't be spared." She meant more than she said, but Frodo could see it in her eyes.
"Oh, no, love, I couldn't leave, not until I've seen you off. It's how Sam would want it," Frodo whispered.
"But, Frodo, you've been hurtin' bad, and you're sick so much, and I can tell you're miserable. I see you gazin' off West, and I know you want to go. I'll be all right by myself now, you don't need to stay." As much as it would grieve her to see Frodo leave, she knew with a motherly instinct that he needed it.
But Frodo shook his head. "No, a few more years here is all I have, and it's all I need to see you pass into the next realm. Once you've gone, I can go, too. But only then, no sooner."
Something in his tone stopped any further argument from her, and she sighed. Seeing that his tea was finished, she took the glass and kissed his brow. He'd become what he'd been to Sam, a sort of brother and father to her, and while Frodo felt that it was his duty to look after her, she felt it was her duty to look after him. Though not related by blood, they were family, and they loved each other dearly for it. Brother and sister, father and daughter, mother and son, they shared a deep bond.
Rosie passed on in 1482. Frodo had sat beside her with the midwife a day and night before she finally left them. She'd been old, and had lived a fruitful life, so her death, while sad, was not terrible. She's been ready, and had told Frodo, just before leaving, that once she was gone he must go West.
So Frodo passed Bad End's deed on to Frodo, Sam's son, and handed everything over to him. He then rode with Gandalf to the Tower Hills, where he visited Elanor for the last time and gave her the Red Book. Frodo had fought with himself for some time, and finally decided he would give her a proper goodbye. Their farewell was a sad one, for he loved her as if she had been his own daughter, and she loved him as deeply as she had loved her father.
The havens were just as Frodo had remembered them—elegant, beautiful. The boat waited in the water before them, eager to return home and yet patient as Frodo turned at looked back towards the Shire.
"It's been so long, Gandalf, that I've lived here, and it seems I managed to live a true life after all, with a family, just as I'd wanted."
The wizard nodded. "And knowing what that feels like, Frodo, do you feel complete?"
"Nearly. I shall spend very little time in Tol Eressea, Gandalf, time enough to heal, to be whole and without pain, and then I will pass on. Sam waits, and I long to see him, and to thank him."
"And what, my dearest Hobbit, must you thank him for?"
"For my life, and for his parting gift. He gave me his family, Gandalf, and while I never forgot that Sam was missing, he allowed me to experience that, to know what I could have had if the Ring had never come to me. To know that love, that warmth. And I wish I could repay him."
"I believe that you have, by caring for them, loving and protecting his wife and children. All the proof you need is in your garden," Gandalf explained.
"It's a strange fate, that we all have, Gandalf. Sam came because of my parents' passing, I'm sure of that now, and it's almost as if Sam died so that I could experience some of his own joy."
"I'm sure," said Gandalf, "that on some level Sam knew this, some subconscious state, and it enabled him to let go of his life. For you Frodo, because of his love."
They boarded the silver ship, and as the sun set Frodo could find nothing to regret, for possibly the first time in his long life.
The End
I want to say thanks once more (with feeling!) to all those who've read and reviewed, and to those who've read and not reviewed as well. All of your feedback has been greatly appreciated, and thanks also for putting up with my lengthy time between posts. :-)
