Diem Kieu: It does. It ends. :( Sort of. Sequel, crazily enough. XP
And here you have it! The end of this one . . . and the prologue to Frodo, My Precious.
Yes! Writes! I will reads!
Frodo wished he would have died there. The burden was gone, no dark creature remained to torture him, and yet he couldn't keep going. They tried to heal him, but his physical maladies were nothing. He was glad to see the Fellowship, although worn and broken. She lingered in his thoughts constantly, her kisses and sly words, her caresses and pleadings.
Gandalf was alive. Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor. They were now back in the Shire.
Nothing would bring him peace.
He tried to find Sev. He ran straight to Gaffer's, but Sam opened the door, teary-eyed.
"She's gone, Mr. Frodo!" he sobbed. "She up and ran away from home! No one knows what happened. Gaffer says he thinks the body they found eaten by wolves was hers, but I can't bring myself to believe that, Mr. Frodo!"
He comforted his friend as long as he could, uncertain about whether this was true. She was the only hobbit missing, and the body was unrecognizable. He didn't want to believe it, but he really had no choice. Regardless, Sev was not there. Bilbo was not there. He found solace nowhere.
Frodo lived in Bag End alone. He found himself writing about Delamarth, about what might have been if she had come to live with him at home. He was stuck: if she came with him, Sauron would not be dead and Middle Earth would be overrun. He could change nothing that had occurred; either path would have brought him endless pain.
Sam married Rosie Cotton, one of Sev's friends that was also devastated by her loss but ready to move on with life. It took some time for the four hobbits to adapt to life in the Shire again, but Frodo could never bring himself to do it. For years he wandered his home's empty halls, unable to rid himself of his pain or his memory. Instead of healing, his Morgul wound and the sting from Shelob grew, causing him greater grief, reminding him of everything he had gone through. While his eyes still worked perfectly, the world seemed to lose its color. While his mind was still functional, it didn't feel that way. He worked on the Red Book of Westmarch to keep occupied—that did not last for many years, only four, before Gandalf wrote him a letter about the Grey Havens and the departure of the Elves.
Evidently the Elves knew he would be scarred by this journey, specifically by the Ring. All those leaving on the last ship to the Undying Lands had Rings of Power of their own . . . although they were not aware that Frodo's appeared to him as a woman. They offered to him and Bilbo—sole surviving and long-term bearers of the One Ring—the opportunity to leave Middle Earth with them, seek healing in Valinor, where the Elves would never die and the hobbits would sink into peaceful rest.
Frodo leaped on the chance. Perhaps he would finally forget about her, find actual rest. Home had brought him nothing in spite of all he did to save it.
There were a few pages in his book by the time Frodo caught up to Sam's wedding to Rosie. He decided to give it to his friend, a final token of inexpressable appreciation for everything Sam had done for him. Through all of that, he wondered if he would have given in sooner without Sam. He certainly wouldn't have gotten far; he told Sam that.
As they journeyed to the Grey Havens, Frodo felt himself growing more worn. She would not leave him alone, and here, on the brink of healing, she pressured him more. Her voice repeated his name in his mind.
Frodo . . . my Frodo, my Precious, my everything. You left me to die. I miss you. Won't you come find me?
Bilbo asked where she was. Frodo told her she'd run away, back to Mordor or wherever it was she wanted to go. He shuddered beside Bilbo when he heard her voice again.
Come back. She moaned pleasurably. Kiss me, love; did you think letting me into the mountain would keep you from wanting me?
Frodo swallowed, biting his lip. He didn't wish to want her, but that ache—that greed now emptied by his lack of her—consumed him. He didn't know how leaving Middle Earth would accomplish being rid of that. They said physical healing was definite: there were dragons in Valinor, wise and powerful dragons skilled in all healing. Even if the dragons would not condescend to heal a hobbit, the Elves' influence could protect him.
But no matter what the light did to heal him, it could never protect him from his own desires.
As he thought about Delamarth all that time—not as a Ring but as a woman—he realized he truly did care about her. While her wickedness and subsequent impact on him was immense and blinding, she could have been an amazing mortal. What if he could have changed her?
What if she had longer to destroy him?
The battle could not be won by decision: it had to be won by what had already transpired. Frodo nearly limped his way to the harbor, less supporting his uncle with an arm and more taking support for how little energy and capability he had. He stared dismally into the sea; he felt hopeless, empty, like she had sapped him not only of his soul, but of his youth and motivation.
He doubted he could find any of those things in Valinor, but anything was better than an empty home where she might have been, for better or for worse, hearing his own pitiful footfalls echo in the empty hill, writing away the memories he wanted so desperately to regurgitate.
He gave Sam the book, told him he was leaving with Gandalf, Bilbo, and the three Ringbearer Elves. No tears came to him; he'd already cut himself off from the Shire, from the friends he had once loved with his entire being. But now he felt nothing. A little sorrow, of course, but he could not bring himself to truly miss what was already absent in his life: affection, to be cared for by another creature constantly by his side.
While Delamarth had hardly fit that, she made the attempt. And Sam had been there for him there and back, but now had a family.
Sam begged to come with him, but Frodo refused. "You have a life to live here, Sam, so much to be and to do." He swallowed, not willing to say that he had nothing. His purpose in life was complete, to be worn through with patches and holes for the world's sake. And he was glad not to be glorified for it; the ache would have been worse.
He embraced Merry fondly, then moved on to Pippin. He would miss them, but he couldn't feel the pangs deep down like he might have a few years ago. He had too much emptiness to fill again. He glanced up at Sam, taken slightly aback by the pain in his gardener's eyes. Sam inhaled sharply, squeezing Frodo close to him. He sobbed into his master's shoulder, feeling a little betrayed, but mostly helpless. He knew Frodo had to leave. Frodo attempted to assure Sam, rubbing his back a little as he pulled away. Sam took a gasp of air and tried settling.
Frodo bent Sam's neck down so he could reach up and kiss his forehead gently. He deepened it to let Sam know that he meant it, then broke away. Sam exhaled shakily—he knew he would never see Frodo again, not until many years had passed and his family had all settled with lives or a lack thereof of their own. Frodo broke away, ready not to look at the Shire or Delamarth anymore.
He accepted Gandalf's hand and walked up the sturdy, welcoming plank to the ship. He glanced back at his friends . . . and felt a bare thread of hope. He had the opportunity now to start anew. Even if all things were not mended, someone now could offer him solace. He smiled for the first time in years, letting them know he would be fine.
The other hobbits attempted to grin at him through their tears. Frodo only smiled more deeply at their attempts, then nodded to them with gratitude he never could have spoken.
Thank you for letting me go.
The ship peacefully carved its way out of the Grey Havens. Frodo did not look back until the last, when gentle clouds of gold closed around the back of the ship, and the shore of Middle Earth was but a dark shadow in the quickly fading distance.
He thought he could hear a voice, a familiar voice, singing to him across the glassy waves.
I am pleading from across the distant shore. Why did you weep? What were those tears upon your face? Soon you will see all of your fears shall pass away, safe in my arms.
The white shore of Valinor stretched out before him. A figure waited upon the soft, shimmering sand, one he recognized. His eyes widened; she did not know he would arrive, for her voice carried naught but hopeless question on a whisper of air.
"Frodo, would you have come?"
And here is the end of One Ring to Desire Him.
A HUGE thank you to Diem Kieu, for reviewing faithfully and spurring me on to update on this project, and huge thanks as well to LadySoy, Alibird1, and Aria Breuer for their reviews! I'd also like to thank my favoriters, and here's a note for each of you 'cause I wish I could have had time and consideration to talk to you. :)
FriendlyNeighborhoodFangirl: I don't hate Hufflepuffs; I am one! :D Tom Riddle . . . I think that's an interesting take on Harry Potter. :) Good luck with all your projects; the one I read was well done.
Nightingale690: I see . . . I see . . . I see intensity upon your profile. You are a reader of good taste. ;) I hope you find the ultimate story.
isaacmarble5 (sorry, it wouldn't let me add the periods . . . :P): Dang, I wish I could give you a high-five; romance and angst for the win! :)
xXAyula-ChanXx: Love the profile pic; thanks so much for favoriting! I hope you enjoyed the story. :)
Of course, also a huge thanks to the followers: Aria Breuer, Cre8tor, Diem Kieu, LadySoy, Nightingale690, Picas Lei-Fur, Seshat-Ra, Zoie10135, rsteen, sephchipmunk, and xXAyula-ChanXx. I hope to see you in future stories; I've seen and read through all your profiles, and I'm honored to have had you along. I count and review my followers and favorites every day; I can't stress enough how much you all mean to me. :)
I bid you all a very fond farewell . . . until our next meeting.
-Sev Baggins
