AN: Thank you so much for your patience. Life is rather hectic lately and I don't have as much time to write as I would like to have. Besides I have to admit that I was stalling to write this chapter as it was very difficult to write and the next one will be even worse. The majority of this chapter is a rewrite as I didn't like where the original version of it was going. Most of it seemed rather out of character and since I am trying to stay true to the characters of the books as much as possible it took me even longer to come up with this.

Thanks to those who read my little story – there are quite a few out there, which comes as a bit of a surprise. I didn't think that this story would actually interest anyone at all. A huge thank you goes to the few who bothered to leave me a review. You made my day. I'm glad you're enjoying this.

This is a very angsty chapter and as I've said before I found it very difficult to write. Basically stuffing the traumata of three books into one chapter was quite the challenge. Oh, see? Now I'm doing it again. I'm keeping you from reading, for I fear it might not live up to any expectations there probably are. I hope you'll enjoy.

Chapter 4: Shadows of the past (2)

Our parents were very open minded Hobbits, mind you. By now it is probably known far beyond the borders of the Shire that we Hobbits are not necessarily known for our love of inventions, adventures, and anything new in general. We cherish and love our quiet life and there's very little that we allow to disturb our peace. So it is not a miracle that our parents were always looked at somewhat suspiciously by their neighbors and fellow Hobbitoners, all though there was usually also a look of admiration found in those prying eyes.

There was very little our parents wouldn't do for us. But there was a rule, never spoken out loud, but it was to be obeyed by all means. There were questions we were not supposed to ask and those mainly concerned the past of our parents. I remember how Amelia once overheard two older Hobbits talking about the Ring War and the involvement of a certain Master Baggins and how he had ended up seemingly more insane (by Hobbit standards) than before the war. The poor girl ran home, arriving at Bag End in tears and quite confused and promptly repeated everything that had been said about her father back at the Green Dragon. The reaction of Adar was … I still have trouble finding a word to describe it properly. All I remember is his face losing all color within a matter of mere moments, a quick look of understanding exchanged between him and Naneth and then he retreated to his study of which he never came out again for the next two days. Naneth had the hardest time to calm my poor sister, explaining everything to her and eventually she asked me to read the Red Book with my little sister, so that she would understand.

Amelia and I spent the better part of four weeks reading the book and there was a lot of explaining for me to do. However, when she asked me how Naneth and Adar had met I found myself wanting. There was simply no answer I could provide for only then I realized that this was the unspoken rule. Of course we knew that they had met somewhere in the West, beyond the borders of Middle Earth and that was it. We were not supposed to ask about that period of their life for it was quite obviously too painful for them to remember that time.

A couple of years later I disregarded the rule when Naneth and I were sitting in her small private quarters of her little pharmacy that also sometimes served as a hospital in times of need, sipping some tea after a particularly exhausting day of work. I remember that it was very quiet in the room and I was watching my mother as she was contemplating her own thoughts. She had not yet lost her beauty (and she never would) but some fine lines in her features proved that the days of her youth were in the past. I don't know how or why but in that moment I saw her for who she really was – a hobbit that had endured a lot, that was more often than not insecure and full of fears, that she hid well. I realized that a certain fear had taken hold of her heart a long time before I was even born and it pained me to see that in her. Maybe for a change I wanted it to be me to be there for her and not the other way around as it had always been before.

"Naneth?" I piped up and she started, as though I had woken her from a slumber.

"What is it, my dear?" She smiled weakly and tried to hide the yawn by taking a sip from her tea cup.

"What happened to you and Adar?"

"Whatever do you mean, Lilly?" She gave me a genuinely puzzled look, although something in her eyes told me, that she knew quite well what I was talking about.

"You never told us what happened to him after he departed from Mithlond. We know all about the war, but nothing of … of how father was healed…" I was beginning to regret my forwardness the very moment the words left my mouth. Naneth's look became so very sad, almost mournful as I was forcing memories upon her, she probably rather kept in the farthest corner of her mind. And yet her look also told me, that they were ever present, no matter how much time had passed.

"I cannot tell you how your father was healed, for he never was," she began slowly and I didn't dare to interrupt her, for I knew that she would probably change her mind and not continue her tale. "How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep… that have taken hold.*" She paused and smiled the saddest smile that I had ever seen on anyone. "Those are your father's words. There was a time when I thought that he is wrong, but it was also time that taught me that he was quite right, indeed. Even though wounds do heal over time, both those of the body and of the soul, they do leave scars. And where there are scars, there are memories, demons even, that will never truly cease to fight you. I was there when your father's demons were about to destroy him." I saw tears welling up in my mother's eyes as the memories of days long in the past threatened to overwhelm her. "I almost lost whom I love the most in this world, my child. Back then I didn't know it yet that I had already lost my heart to him. However, one thing I knew for certain. If there has ever been anyone worth saving, it was Frodo Baggins."

It was still dark outside when Frodo woke early the next morning to the lingering images of a nightmare that he had thought long lost in the past. He had had that very same dream before when he was still at home in the Shire and even though he had at some point written it down, he now found it hard to remember what exactly it was that still frightened him now that wakefulness was finally saving him from the still very vivid and yet blurred image of his incubus. Breathing heavily he tried to vanquish his sleep's demon that was threatening to choke him as he willed his eyelids open to reveal the very first rays of sunlight of another dawning day, entering his bedroom through a tiny gap between the closed curtains. Slowly he propped himself into a sitting position and was startled when he realized that he was not alone in his bed. Frodo turned onto his side, leaning heavily on his right elbow and watched the sleeping form of Níniël next to him. Some of the previous days' exhaustion seemed to have left her; the tension of her body was gone and the expression of her face was quite peaceful.

"Rest," he whispered and was about to lift his hand to remove a stray lock of her hair from her closed eyes when he stopped in his movement, his arm caught hovering inches above her face in midair. "How could I touch you?" Quickly he drew back his hand and made haste to get out of bed and bring some distance between her and him. "I am so sorry," he muttered in a hushed whisper, a strange mixture of panic, fear, and a deep sadness beginning to emanate from somewhere deep within his very core. "It won't happen again, I swear," he told the sleeping lass in his bed and with urgency he dressed and hurried out of the bedroom, away from her – and what he could only describe as her innocence. "Must be the Took blood," he jested half heartedly, making it sound everything but funny.

Without making a sound he wandered down the hall to his study and quickly closed and locked the door behind him and with a sigh let himself fall down into the comfortable chair in front of his desk. Countless books and pieces of parchment were strewn about the room but he saw none of them. With trembling fingers he started to unbutton his shirt, revealing a sight he loathed. Closing his eyes he touched the still quite angry scars on his chest and around his neck shyly, tracing their curves with the tips of his fingers as memories returned of the dreadful days the wounds had been inflicted upon him. His nostrils were once again offended by the foul breath of the Witchking of Angmar as the hilt of his dagger forcefully imbedded itself in his flesh; the cold that had never completely left him returned and took hold of his heart while his hand continued its short travel towards the circular scar Shelob's stinger had left. A paralyzing numbness joined the cold in his heart as his mind was dragged back into the tower of Cirith Ungol. He felt the leather straps of the orcs' whips slashing against his skin which burst open by the sheer force of their impact. The excruciating pain was still as vivid as on the day all of it had happened as well as the feeling of the warmth of his blood as it was seeping out of the various wounds and slowly running down the length of his bare back. Death. It was all that he wished for, now deprived of Sam and his loving care and support on the quest that he had failed to accomplish. The Ring was back in the hands of the one who had once forged it and Middle Earth and every single soul living were doomed. And it was all his fault.

Suddenly his fear of the orcs' lashes turned into anticipation – he began to feel that he deserved everything they were doing to him, no matter how brutal or painful. Relishing the immense pain, the images of Cirith Ungol began to fade and he found himself standing within the sulfuric heat of Amon Amarth, Mount Doom, finally succumbing to the powers of the Ring. The sudden bliss after fighting against its calling for so long burdened and lightened his tormented soul equally until it was once again taken from him by the unexpected onslaught of the one creature he despised the most. Gollum. The creature, once a Hobbit himself could not see him for the Ring was protecting him from anyone's sight – yet the Ring betrayed him, for it drew the creature towards itself, thusly disclosing the location of its current bearer. Frodo found himself gasping for breath as Gollum's thin fingers entwined around his neck, chocking him in hopes of getting his Precious back. But Frodo wouldn't succumb, not to this foul, weak thing. But luck was on the creature's side as it found the invisible hand and brushed the cool gold of the Ring ever so lightly with his own. Desire overcame rationality and he bit off the thieving limb, its former owner sank to his knees in pain, oblivious of the madly dancing creature behind him and its deathly fall into the abyss of Mount Doom.

As the bond between him and the Ring broke only mere moments later, a feeling of relief wanted to engulf him but was almost immediately replaced by one of guilt. He had failed. He had failed Bilbo, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, and all he loved so dearly as well as everyone else living in Middle Earth. The fact that the Ring was destroyed was no consolation. The guilt of his failure tainted him, and the scars and wounds he wore were well deserved. His innocence was gone, his soul tormented, his heart empty.

Then, suddenly, he was quite alone as the dream once again returned.

I walked by the sea, and there came to me,
as a star-beam on the wet sand,
a white shell like a sea-bell;
trembling it lay in my wet hand.
In my fingers shaken I heard waken
a ding within, by a harbour bar
a buoy swinging, a call ringing
over endless seas, faint now and far.

Then I saw a boat silently float
On the night-tide, empty and grey.
'It is later than late! Why do we wait?'
I leapt in and cried: 'Bear me away!'

It bore me away, wetted with spray,
wrapped in a mist, wound in a sleep,
to a forgotten strand in a strange land.
In the twilight beyond the deep
I heard a sea-bell swing in the swell,
dinging, dinging, and the breakers roar
on the hidden teeth of a perilous reef;
and at last I came to a long shore.
White it glimmered, and the sea simmered
with star-mirrors in a silver net;
cliffs of stone pale as ruel-bone
in the moon-foam were gleaming wet.
Glittering sand slid through my hand,
Dust of pearl and jewel-grist,
Trumpets of opal, roses of coral,
Flutes of green and amethyst.

But under cliff-eaves there were glooming caves,
weed-curtained, dark and grey'
a cold air stirred in my hair,
and the light waned, as I hurried away.

Down from a hill ran a green rill;
its water I drank to my heart's ease.
Up its fountain-stair to a country fair
of ever-eve I came, far from the seas,
climbing into meadows of fluttering shadows;
flowers lay there like fallen stars,
and on a blue pool, glassy and cool,
like floating moons the nenuphars.
Alders were sleeping, and willows weeping
by a slow river of rippling weeds;
gladdon-swords guarded the fords,
and green spears, and arrow-reeds.

There was echo of song all the evening long
down in the valley, many a thing
running to and fro: hares white as snow,
voles out of holes; moths on the wing
with lantern-eyes; in quiet surprise
brocks were staring out of dark doors.
I heard dancing there, music in the air,
feet going quick on the green floors.
But wherever I came it was ever the same:
the feet fled, and all was still;
never a greeting, only the fleeting
pipes, voices, horns on the hill.

Of river-leaves and the rush-sheaves
I made me a mantle of jewel-green,
a tall wand to hold, and a flag of gold;
my eyes shone like the star-sheen.
With flowers crowned I stood on a mound,
and shrill as a call at cock-crow

proudly I cried: 'Why do you hide?
Why do none speak, wherever I go?
Here now I stand, king of this land,
with gladdon-sword and reed-mace.
Answer my call! Come forth all!
Speak to me words! Show me a face!'

Black came a cloud as a night-shroud.
Like a dark mole groping I went,
to the ground falling, on my hands crawling
with eyes blind and my back bent.
I crept to a wood: silent it stood
in its dead leaves; bare were its boughs.
There must I sit, wandering in wit,
while owls snored in their hollow house.
For a year and a day there must I stay:
beetles were tapping in the rotten trees,
spiders were weaving, in the mould heaving
puffballs loomed about my knees.

At last there came light in my long night,
and I saw my hair hanging grey.
'Bent though I be, I must find the sea!
I have lost myself, and I know not the way,
but let me be gone!' Then I stumbled on;
like a hunting bat shadow was over me;
in my ears dinned a withering wind,
and with ragged briars I tried to cover me.
My hands were torn and my knees worn,
and years were heavy upon my back,
when the rain in my face took a salt taste,
and I smelled the smell of sea-wrack.

Birds came sailing, mewing, wailing;
I heard voices in cold caves,
seals barking, and rocks snarling,
and in spout-holes the gulping of waves.
Winter came fast; into a mist I passed,
to land's end my years I bore;
Snow was in the air, ice in my hair,
darkness was lying on the last shore.

There still afloat waited the boat,
in the tide lifting, its prow tossing.
Weary I lay, as it bore me away,
the waves climbing, the seas crossing,
passing old hulls clustered with gulls
and great ships laden with light,
coming to haven, dark as a raven,
silent as snow, deep in the night.

Houses were shuttered, wind round them muttered,
roads were empty. I sat by a door,
and where drizzling rain poured down a drain
I cast away all that I bore:
in my clutching hand some grains of sand,
and a sea-shell silent and dead.
Never will my ear that bell hear,
never my feet that shore tread,
never again, as in sad lane,
in blind alley and in long street
ragged I walk. To myself I talk;
for still they speak not, men that I meet.**

It was late afternoon when an unpleasant tickling sensation on her nose roused Níniël from her slumber. A fly had settled there and she waved the offending insect away. Drowsily she rose and rubbed her eyes in an attempt to clear away the last cobwebs of a very deep and dreamless sleep. As wakefulness finally claimed her she sighed and silently scolded herself for sleeping so long. Frodo was still on the mend and could easily suffer a relapse and both of those certainties didn't allow such neglect of her obligations towards her patient. Straightening her clothes she went to a basin next to the wardrobe and quickly splashed her face before she left the bedroom in order to find Frodo. A loud rumbling of her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the previous night and so she hurried through the west hall and the atrium into the kitchen to grab an apple before she would continue her search for Frodo. With her mind solely occupied with thoughts of him and his wellbeing, she had to stifle a high pitched yelp of surprise when she discovered Gandalf sitting at the kitchen table, smoking his pipe and sipping some tea.

"Good afternoon," he smiled at her and couldn't help but had to grin when he saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed from her short sprint. "Why in such a hurry?"

"Where is Frodo?" she exclaimed, ignoring his friendly greeting and obvious amusement. "Is he all right?"

"Oh quite so, my dear. He was an early riser today and spent most of the day in his study, where you will find him now as well, I suppose," the wizard still smiled at her. "Why don't you sit down and join me for some tea. There are some biscuits as well and they are quite tasty. You look famished." Without awaiting her approval he poured her a cup of tea and motioned for her to sit down.

"There's no time, Gandalf. I must check on Frodo. I really shouldn't have slept that long," she cried and was about to hurry out of the kitchen when Gandalf gently grabbed her by her arm.

"There was no harm done, my dear and your body craved for rest. Why else do you suppose you fell asleep at the table while chopping herbs?" he reprimanded her somewhat sternly but with the ever present twinkle in his eyes still there. "Sit, eat. You will need your strength. Don't worry about Frodo. He has eaten his luncheon and then retreated to his study, where he is busy writing, I think." The old wizard gave her an encouraging smile and with a heavy sigh Níniël sat down. "There. That's better."

"I am still quite worried for him, though," she sighed after she had taken a sip from her tea. "Even though his wounds should heal nicely now, there are still those even I cannot heal," she continued sadly, avoiding the wizard's eyes.

"Unfortunately you are quite right there, my dear Níniël. But I do believe that you are mistaken where it comes to your own worth in Frodo's healing," Gandalf said thoughtfully.

"Why? I have done everything I can. There's nothing left for me to do, except perhaps to ease some minor discomforts he might still suffer," she argued and finally looked up into his eyes.

"With Bilbo gone, there is no one here on this isle that I think he would consider more trustworthy than you. I'm afraid I've lost the privilege of his faith in me."

"Why? He has known you for a very, very long time and he has told me how desperate he was after he witnessed your fall in Moria."

"Ah, but the Ring had not yet consumed him so completely back then. I think in a way he blames me for everything he had to endure and I'm afraid that Frodo will tell me just that, rather sooner than later," Gandalf explained, his expression sad.

"And why would he do that? He does not seem to be the kind of Hobbit that lays fault on someone else."

"He spoke very little when we ate earlier today. I asked him whether he was alright, whether he wanted me to rouse you so that you could tend to his injuries, but he declined. Frodo claimed that he felt much better, that to his own surprise the wounds were indeed almost healed," Gandalf told never taking his eyes of the Hobbit sitting at the other side of the table.

"I'm glad he feels better," Níniël said. "I would just very much like to see for myself," she continued with a sigh, stirring some more sugar into her tea.

"Frodo is very grateful for what you did for him," Gandalf said after a while of heavy silence and attempted a reassuring smile.

"I only did what I would have done for everyone in need of healing. After all it is what I do," she waved the words of praise away, nearly knocking her teacup over as she did so. Gandalf smiled.

"Oh, I'm not certain that this is quite true. You have done a lot more seeing how you attempted to take away his emotional distress as well when you listened to his story," Gandalf contradicted her.

"Nonsense. It is what any healer would have done if it were in the patient's best interest," Níniël argued and inwardly cursed herself when she felt her cheeks blushing.

"Not to a point of absolute exhaustion. There is no shame in this, Níniël. I don't think that Lady Nessea's only reason for assigning you to his care was that you are without a doubt one of the best healers. She, too, has her ways to look into a person's soul."

Níniël was at a loss for words. She didn't know how to respond to this and instead of furthermore subjecting her by now highly blushed cheeks to the Wizard's stare, she rose from the table quickly turning away from him. "I will go and check on him. I should be back shortly. If you so wish, you can stay for dinner and for another night as well."

"There is no need for that," Frodo's voice was suddenly to be heard and a startled Hobbit as well as a startled Wizard both turned their heads to find him standing in the doorway. "Good afternoon," he greeted Níniël without looking at her. "I see you have finally woken."

"I am so sorry, Frodo. I shouldn't have slept that long," Níniël immediately apologized. "If you don't mind I would very much like to take a look at your wounds," she asked somewhat nervously and was relieved when Frodo nodded his agreement. "All right then, I shall wait for you in the bedroom. I need to prepare a few things first. If you would excuse me," she nodded at Gandalf first then at Frodo and quickly hurried past him out of the kitchen.

"You shouldn't do that, you know," Frodo said as he walked up to the kitchen table and eventually sat down.

"Do what?" Gandalf asked innocently as he watched his friend. Frodo was pale and dark circles had appeared under his eyes. It was quite obvious that whatever he had done in his study had exhausted him.

"Embarrass her like that," Frodo said with barely concealed anger in his voice.

"Oh, but that was not my intention at all, my dear Hobbit. I simply told her what I've seen and I'm profoundly sorry if the truth is such an embarrassing thing."

"It is sometimes. And that is why it shouldn't be thrown into someone's face like that when that is the case," Frodo retorted, finding it difficult to keep his voice down.

"Why are you so annoyed?" Gandalf inquired with his eyebrow raised.

"I am annoyed because you keep acting as though all the wisdom of the Valar has been bestowed upon you. She's been nice and very kind to both of us and you're treating her like a child that is unable to see the most obvious of things."

"That might be, because the first time I saw her, she was but a baby," Gandalf somewhat half heartedly attempted to defend himself.

"Well, she's not anymore."

"Yes, you're quite right. She has indeed become a very powerful healer as well as a fully grown Hobbit," Gandalf agreed and for a moment he looked down on the table. "You look pale my friend. Are you unwell?"

"I don't know," Frodo admitted with a sigh and poured himself a cup of tea with trembling hands.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"That I don't know. I've spent the day trying to figure a few things out," Frodo said, anger flicking up in his voice again.

"May I inquire what those things were," Gandalf queried, knowing full well that the question was testing Frodo's patience.

"NO! You may not!" Frodo shouted and instantly jumped up from his seat, knocking his teacup over. "Who do you think you are, anyway? I am so tired of your constant meddling with my life. Why can't you just for once leave me be? I have done everything you wanted me to do and it has left me with nothing. My life as I knew it, my plans for the future – they have all been taken away from me, thanks to you. I am a lifetime away from everything and everyone I once loved. The one person I had that was the closest of a family I've ever had is gone forever and while I was promised peace and healing, all I've found here so far is more pain. I won't have any of this anymore, Gandalf. I am done with you and all of this. Just leave me alone." Frodo shouted these last few words into the stunned Wizard's face and angrily wiped tears of utter distress from his pale cheeks. "Go. Leave. Don't come back," he added more quietly and then ran out of the kitchen.

Gandalf just sat there, trying to comprehend everything he had just been accused of.

"He didn't mean it," Níniël's soft voice broke through his reverie as she returned to the kitchen.

"I am afraid, he did and what is even worse, he might be right," Gandalf sighed, avoiding to look at the Hobbit.

"It was his grief speaking. He does love you, Gandalf and there will be a time when he remembers it," Níniël said softly placing a comforting hand on the Wizard's slumped shoulders.

"I do hope so, my dear," Gandalf whispered and then looked at her with a troubled smile on his lips. "However, I think it is best to leave now. I trust my being here will not contribute to his healing," he said and rose.

"I will find you once his anger and pain are subsided. I promised you that," Níniël tried to console the Wizard.

"Thank you, my dear child. I find it hard to believe that the crying bundle I held in my arms not so very long ago has grown into the lass standing before me."

"Better believe it," she smiled and then ushered him towards the front door. "Now go. I will come and find you soon. Be well, my friend." Without another word Gandalf stepped through the large round green door and disappeared into the falling night. Níniël closed the door and then headed for the study. She couldn't be sure what was expecting her there or in what mood she would find Frodo. So she walked as quietly as only Hobbits could and when she finally reached the closed door of the study she knocked softly against it.

"Come in," she heard his muffled reply and tried to calm herself a little before she proceeded to open the door.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly as she stepped into the mess that was his study. He was sitting at his desk, reading in a large red book.

"Yes," he answered shortly without looking up from his book.

"You shouldn't be so angry with Gandalf. He is blaming himself for everything you had to endure and I'm certain that in a way he even regrets sending you through the door of Bag End on the first day of your journey," she tried to reason with him, but he still ignored her. Taking in a deep breath she continued after a while of heavy silence. "May I take a look at your wounds? You seem better, but you are rather pale.

"Leave me alone."

"If that is your wish. Do you want to eat? I could bring you something here," she offered.

"No. Haven't I told you to leave me alone?" Frodo said anger evident in his voice.

"Of course," Níniël said silently and turned to leave.

"Wait," Frodo suddenly demanded and Níniël turned to look at him. He got up from his chair and made a few steps towards her, his expression filled with an unreadable mixture of emotions, while his voice remained cold. "I think you should leave. Thanks for everything."

"You want me to leave?" Níniël couldn't believe what she had just heard. "Why?"

"Your work here is done. Now go. And don't come back," Frodo said silently, his voice almost betraying his words. He didn't want her to leave but he couldn't stand the thought of her presence either. Níniël lowered her head, pain and disappointment evident on her delicate face as she slowly nodded.

"You know where to find me, in case you should need me," she whispered, trying hard to fight back the tears that began to well up in her eyes.

"I won't need you anymore. Farewell." Frodo sat down again and pretended to continue his reading, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for her to leave.

Níniël stood frozen to the spot in the middle of his study still looking at the now vacant space where Frodo had stood only seconds before. Then she left, silently closing the door behind her. Slowly she walked to the closet in the hall and got her cape and bag out that contained most of her belongings. For one more last time she let her eyes wander through the entrance hall and when she could no longer bear it, she sneaked out through the door, closing it ever so quietly behind her.

* Quote from the movie "The Lord of the Rings – The Return of the King" – Even though this quote is nowhere to be found in the books, I had to use it in my story as I felt that it describes Frodo's despair and pain quite sufficiently. I love this quote and I remember that this was the point in the movie when I started crying all over again for the third time while watching it for the first time.

**J.R.R. Tolkien: "The Sea-Bell or Frodo's Dreme" as found in "Tales from the Perilous Realm" – I considered writing my own summary of this enchanting poem and found that I couldn't. What I came up with destroyed the mystery and the magic of it and so I decided to put the original poem into this story.