The memory of faces
"I'm always tired now," said Bilbo, when the greetings were over, and all was said and done. "I don't really go outside much any more. Is it summer? I haven't noticed. Or maybe I just keep forgetting."
He had no memory of recent birdsong, and it was a long time since he had seen a butterfly, or touched fresh leaves.
"Something changed," he said. "Something disappeared. I don't know what it was, but I think… I think it was pinning me to this world. Now I keep forgetting…"
He faded away. "Bilbo?" Frodo said quietly, and Bilbo's head jerked up again.
"Where was I?" he mumbled. "Oh, I don't suppose it mattered much. Have you told me about Aragorn's coronation? I don't think you have, or not enough. Tell me everything. Aragorn used to bring me back word-pictures from wherever he went. Did I tell you that?"
"You did," said Frodo with a smile. "I don't know if I can do it as well as him. I'll start with Minas Tirith. It was quite austere at the time of the crowning, because everyone was just coming back from war. But by the time of the wedding… Oh, Bilbo, there were flowers everywhere! The Pelennor had been devastated, of course, but by midsummer it was covered with wild flowers. All the windows were full of them, even those in empty houses. There were cornflowers and poppies and buttercups, and lots more that I didn't recognise. And at the top of the city, the Citadel…"
"No," Bilbo murmured.
Frodo stopped.
Bilbo smiled. "You do it very well, Frodo my lad, but I've changed my mind. Don't tell me about the towers; tell me about Aragorn. In all these years, I've only once seen him dressed as befitted a king, and even that might have been a dream: I often can't remember, now, the difference between memories and dreams. Does it suit him, being a king?"
"It suits him very well," said Frodo. "When he rose up with the crown on his head, he looked like a legend come to life."
"I'm glad," Bilbo murmured.
"And when he took Lady Arwen as his queen," Frodo said, "I don't think I have ever seen such joy in a person's eyes before."
"Good," Bilbo nodded. "That's good."
The light had begun to fade when next he opened his eyes, but Frodo was still there, his face turned to the window. Bilbo kept forgetting to look outside. Sometimes he forgot to open his curtains.
"The pictures are fading," Bilbo murmured. "I can't really see them any more. I'm losing the stories, too. I can't seem to organise them into a book. I don't think I ever will. But the people… Old friends… The memories of smiles… That's not ready to fade, not yet. It's all I've got left."
Night fell between one word and the next. Frodo was no longer there, but someone had lit the candles on the dresser, and a blanket had been placed across Bilbo's knees.
"And it's enough," he said. "It's enough."
But he wondered how long it would be before even that had gone.