Frodo turned away from Sam and reached up for Gandalf’s hand. The wizard tightened his fingers over Frodo’s, and Frodo took a deep breath to steady himself. He did not want Sam to see him broken, as though he feared the future. If he could stay calm, it would help Sam come to terms with his leaving. He wanted to fall into Gandalf’s arms and sob out his loss, but that would seem to Sam as though he went without hope, and only hope allowed Sam to let him go.
‘Gandalf, help me.’
‘Courage, my dear Frodo. Just a little further and then you can turn to him.’
‘Help me stay composed, Gandalf.’
‘For a little, yes, I will do this for you, but your hurt cannot be blanketed for long; not without further hurt to you.’
‘But you can do it for a little?’ he glanced up at Gandalf.
‘Yes, I can, dear friend.’
Frodo felt a numbness creep over his mind. He was leaving and felt no pain. It was a little like the fog of his melancholy, but different as well: he knew the pain was there - it filled his world - he just wasn’t reacting to it. He made his way to the stern of the ship. Everywhere there were Elves, but wherever he wanted to be a space opened for him, and he walked a straight path as the Elves flowed around him. He was constantly aware of Sam shifting on the quayside, keeping him in view, and then he was leaning over the stern, with nothing and no one to get in his way except the widening gap of water that left Sam receding in the distance. He fumbled in his pocket, felt the touch of the carved robin, and pulled out the star glass to hold aloft. The light shone out over the water as the shadows from the setting sun lengthened and night fell around him.
He could no longer see Sam, but he could feel him, could feel his misery, his love, and - tenuous as a gossamer thread - he could feel his hope.
‘Fare well, my love,’ he whispered to the wind that snatched his words back to him. ‘Until we meet again.’ Gandalf’s hand was laid on his shoulder.
‘You feel him still, Frodo, but I must warn you, you will lose that as we take the Straight Path. It does not mean Sam has come to harm, just that we travel in a different place. When that happens, I think I should release you from my craft, and let you grieve. It will not be easy for you, but it is a path you must tread to return to the light. Believe me, I will not leave you.’
Frodo nodded and lowered the star-glass. ‘Thank you, Gandalf,’ he said. Even in his numbed state, the thought of losing contact with Sam filled him with a fear of the unknown. He could hardly remember what it was like to wake in the morning without the murmur of song in his heart that told him all was well in his world. He could see no line of cliffs now, let alone the break that represented the Grey Havens. It seemed to him as though he were looking out over the wake of the ship widening over the uninterrupted waters, while at the same time seeing the seas of the world he knew falling away beneath him. He shivered and pulled his billowing cloak close around him, and suddenly, just as Gandalf had warned, his heart was empty. He could feel Gandalf slowly release him, but his mind could not contain the pain of his loss. He staggered and fell into darkness.
Gandalf caught him as he fell senseless to the deck and carried him to his sleeping berth where Bilbo sat waiting. A lamp swung from the ceiling, and shadows dipped and swayed across the small room.
‘I suppose you’re very pleased with yourself,’ said Bilbo with some anger.
‘Do not judge before all is over,’ said Gandalf gently. ‘But if you want the truth: no, I am not at all pleased with myself.’ He laid Frodo down and with some difficulty in the cramped quarters removed the hobbit’s cloak and coat. He tucked the covers tightly around him to stop him rolling out of the bed. ‘If I had managed things better, the Ring would have been recognised earlier,’ he said as he worked, ‘before Sauron rose in power. Whether that would have accomplished the destruction more easily, or whether all would have come to ruin, I do not know.’ He sighed and laid a hand over Frodo’s brow, murmuring words of guarding.
Bilbo hung his head. ‘I am sorry Gandalf,’ he said. ‘I am worried about Frodo. Will he recover?’
‘I am hopeful, but it will be a long, slow road. He has only told me part of his griefs and troubles. There are locked doors in his mind, and dark rooms behind. He must open them of his own free will, and yet he shies away from them. He must learn that he is the highest of the high and has accomplished great things; and yet he is naught but a lowly part of the majesty and design of the song of Ilúvatar, and his failures make only the smallest ripples on the surface. He must learn to be both proud of what he accomplished and humble about what he did not.’
‘How will he learn, when he he is so weary and grief stricken?’ asked Bilbo, moving to Frodo’s side and taking his hand. ‘What can I do for him, Gandalf? I feel too old to be much use.’
‘You will be his anchor, Bilbo. Old you may be, but you are a hobbit, and he loves you. All you need do is be with him and love him in turn. We must permit him to grieve. I will take this bed and there is plenty of room for you to sleep at the other end of Frodo’s.’ Gandalf pulled out drawers beneath the beds and nodded in approval. ‘Good. All his things are here.’ He stood up too suddenly as the ship heeled, and hit his head. He grimaced. ‘But I think I will wish there was more head room before we are at our journey’s end.’
Bilbo looked smug.
‘Just wait, Master Hobbit, until you try to walk,’ said Gandalf dryly. ‘Now, I must check on Shadowfax, and then I will be back with you.’
When he returned, Bilbo was sitting exactly where he had left him, his hand still clasping Frodo’s. He was talking softly to him, although Frodo was still senseless. Bilbo looked up when Gandalf entered. ‘Will he be ill again, as you said he was before, Gandalf?’ he asked. ‘Will you keep him asleep, until his anniversary illness is past?’
‘It is his choice to sleep now, Bilbo, and the waking will be his choice as well. I do not think he will sleep long, although I cannot be sure of that. It is, however, likely he will be ill again: he is still tightly bound to Middle-earth. We will all help him through - Elrond especially. On that day, sleep may again be the best answer.’ Bilbo nodded, and they sat in silence.
After a while, Bilbo stirred. ‘I would have liked to have read his book, Gandalf,’ he said, wistfully. In Rivendell they all talked at once and interrupted each other, and jumped about in the story. I got very confused. I get confused too easily these days.’
‘If you would like my advice, I suggest you wait until he is ready to talk about it. I think we should let him be until then, and not burden him with questions.’
There was a pattering of feet overhead, some muffled cries, a dull thump, and the ship leaned over the opposite way. Bilbo almost fell onto the floor. ‘Why can’t we just stay up the right way,’ he muttered, irritable again.
‘The wind will not let us,’ answered Gandalf, ‘it has swung round to westerly, but rest assured: we are making long tacks, and it will be sometime before we need to go about again.’
‘I’d rest more assured if I understood what you were talking about,’ muttered Bilbo, as he wedged himself more securely against Frodo. Any explanation that Gandalf might have offered was interrupted by a restless movement from their charge. Frodo’s hand tightened around Bilbo’s and his eyes rolled beneath closed lids.
‘Bilbo.’ It was a faint whisper
‘Hush, dear boy. I’m here,’ said Bilbo. Frodo sighed and relaxed.
’You see? Just be here for him.’
Bilbo nodded. ‘What about meals and such?’
‘The galley is in the stern, with a communal room just for’ard of it, but we can eat here, at least to start with.’
‘My friend, you speak in riddles, although I understood “eat” and “here”.
‘Are you hungry, Bilbo?’
‘No, not really. I feel a little sick to be honest.’
‘It is a motion sickness, nothing more. I will bring you something for it, then I think you should get some sleep.’ Gandalf smiled down at the old hobbit and patted his hand. He laid his palm on Frodo’s forehead, and his eyes closed as he gently probed. Reassured by the deep sleep, he went on deck to look at the stars and sniff the air. He perceived Elrond’s approach and turned to greet him.
‘You are sad, my friend. So much has been lost by this victory over Morgoth’s spawn.’
‘And yet we would have given more, Mithrandir, to free the land from such a darkness.’
‘But the loss of Arwen Undómiel is bitter.’
‘Yes, it is bitter. Is it not strange that Elves should envy Man the gift of Ilúvatar, and yet mourn when one of our kind is granted mortality.’
‘Not so strange. You mourn your loss, not her gain. It is hard to lose a child, to leave her behind and know not her joys and her heartaches. So it is for our small hero, as well.’
‘And yet he may meet with his daughter again, when all is done.’
‘He may. But the fate of Ilúvatar’s mortal children is largely hidden from us, and it will not seem like that to Frodo, I fear. I hope we have done the right thing for him. Bilbo was angry with me, and in truth I could not defend myself. I have chosen ill so many times during my stewardship of Middle-earth.’
‘And yet, under your guidance, all has come together to bring about the downfall of our great enemy.’
‘But with much loss.’
‘We faced our loss as the price to pay for Sauron’s defeat. We knew what was likely to happen if the Ring were destroyed.’
‘Not all of us, Elrond. Frodo took this burden, knowing only that it was perilous. His understanding grew with the quest.’
‘And yet he did not turn aside. I am in awe of such an indomitable spirit. I do not think we do wrong to wish to bring him to greater healing before he travels onwards, and the choice was not truly yours, but Arwen’s - and Frodo’s.’
Gandalf sighed, then nodded. ‘You ease my heart a little,’ he said aloud, ‘but only a little. Frodo’s future is still in doubt.’
As Frodo woke, he was unsure of where he was. There was a roundness to his surroundings that suggested the Shire - small round window in curving wall - but the richly carved beam above him suggested Rivendell. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, and became aware of a creaking noise as of rope under strain. His body dipped and rose in a sickening sensation; he rolled to his side and, with little warning, voided the contents of his stomach. His brow was clammy with sweat, and the taste in his mouth was bitter and acid. Where was Sam?
A cloth wiped his brow and mouth, and a cup was held to his lips.
‘Drink this, my boy,’ said a familiar voice. Not Sam. Was he imagining Sam? Were all the memories swirling for his attention no more than fever bred dreams? Was he at Bag End with Bilbo? He obediently drank, and almost immediately the nausea eased. ‘Bilbo?’ he whispered, fearful of the answer. ‘Where am I?’
‘Sailing with the Elves,’ said Bilbo, gently. ‘You have slept all night and all day.’
‘Someone’s snoring.’
‘That’s Gandalf. We have taken it in turn to watch over you.’
The strands of his memory became clear and one strand, sharply focused, played before him: waking with Sam snoring beside him. He curled into a tight ball around the pain in his heart and wept. Comfort was offered, and he could barely acknowledge it; food was offered, and he refused. It was only with great difficulty he swallowed water. The world darkened around him again, and he fell into an exhausted sleep.
When he awoke again, it was light, and he lay staring at the carved beam. The pain of loss was still as sharp, but his inner voice was asking him if he were going to allow himself to sink under abject misery, or make an effort for the sake of those around him and for Sam’s sake. Which honoured Sam’s memory more? Taking steps to recover, or lying in a soggy heap of tears day after day?
Lying in a soggy heap of tears was tempting, but he swung his feet from the bed, and sat up to meet Gandalf’s gaze.
They stared at each other. Frodo was not aware of sharing any thoughts, but Gandalf nodded. ‘Dear Frodo,’ he said, ‘as ever, you continue to surprise me.’ He smiled, and the effect took some of the early morning chill from Frodo, although he couldn’t manage to smile back. He looked down at Bilbo, sleeping soundly, and hurriedly covered the old hobbit’s feet with his end of the bed clothes.
‘Has Bilbo been very worried about me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. We are all worried about you.’
‘Is Sam all right?’
‘You know that more clearly than I do, Frodo.’
‘It is as you said, Gandalf,’ he whispered. ‘I can no longer feel him.’ He bowed his head. So much for good intentions, he thought, as the silence overwhelmed him, and his tears came again.
‘Tell me of your visions,’ said Gandalf gently.
Frodo shook his head. He couldn’t speak of them, but he understood what Gandalf was telling him: the answer to his question was in his visions. Gandalf took his hand and drew him into his embrace. He didn’t say a word as Frodo wept in his arms. Frodo leant his weight against him, receiving strength from his quiet presence, even as he gained strength from his physical support.
There was the ringing of a bell somewhere above, and he pushed himself away to wipe his eyes.
‘Thank you, Gandalf,’ he said. ‘For warning me what would happen. I... I need some fresh air now. It’s too close and stuffy here.’
‘Would you like some breakfast?’
‘No, I don’t feel as though I could swallow anything.’ His throat tightened at the thought of food, he felt as though he would choke upon it.
‘Come. I will show you around. You may feel a little unsteady with the motion of the ship. Do not worry, it will become easier.’
They climbed a narrow ladder and came out on the deck through a hatchway surrounded by a high lip. Nothing made much sense to Frodo; it was an incomprehensible mass of ropes, masts and white sails. He ducked out of the way as Elves came running past to untie ropes. The ship turned, and the sails swung away across the ship with a creak and thump of timber. He slithered as the wooded decking beneath his feet heeled the opposite way, and grabbed for a support. Elves were securing ropes on the far side, looking up as they quietened the flapping sails. Frodo felt the ship gather speed again, and heard again the lap, lap of water. Tentatively, he released his hold and turned towards the stern, but Gandalf stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
‘Come to the bow, Frodo,’ he said. ‘There is a seat there, and it is better for you to look forward rather than back.’
Frodo nodded, wishing Gandalf did not perceive his mind so clearly. He staggered as he walked, but his hobbit poise and balance stood him in good stead. He wedged himself onto the seat and looked around.
‘I’m going to get you a drink, Frodo,’ said Gandalf. ‘I’ll not be long.’
Frodo nodded again, but didn’t stop his appraisal of his surroundings. He had not realised how elegant the ship was. In harbour she had been like a swan on land - rather ungainly - but here, with her sails spread to the wind and her tall prow rising and dipping before him, she was a thing of beauty. His thoughts turned to Sam’s fear of boats, and from there it was but a short step to drawing his knees into his body and hiding his head to weep. He heard the heavy tread of Gandalf’s return, but the wizard simply sat beside him without comment until he had finished.
Frodo wiped his eyes, also without comment, and accepted a drink. It was refreshing and lightened his spirit a little. Afterwards, Gandalf insisted he try to eat a morsel of lembas, and he did so, hearing a voice in his head crying “dust and ashes” as he forced it down.
He sat there all day, sometimes looking around, trying to make sense of this unfamiliar world, sometimes with his head bowed to hide his tears as inevitably his mind turned to Sam. Either Bilbo or Gandalf sat beside him, reminding him to drink, feeding him small portions of the elven wafers, but not trying to engage him in conversation. He was grateful for their presence and for their restraint. He slipped his hand into Bilbo’s, and the old hobbit kissed it, before clasping it in his lap between both of his. They sat in silence, and Bilbo only released his hand to fumble in his pocket for a handkerchief to pass to him.
In the days that followed, Frodo gradually ate more, but only lembas. He found he could satisfy Gandalf without having to swallow much food, and the Elven wafers met his body’s needs. As before, the waybread strengthened his mind. He thought he was doing well until he lay summoning the energy to open his eyes a few mornings later, and overheard Bilbo talking to Gandalf.
‘He is so thin, Gandalf, and the glow about him has paled.’
‘Patience, my old friend, let us have patience. He is trying hard.’
‘And that is painful to watch in itself,’ answered Bilbo. ‘You know, I would give anything to see him smile. He has not smiled since he left young Sam, and his face is set in sadness.’
Frodo decided he had heard enough. He stretched, yawned loudly, and rolled over to rise and face another day.
On deck he stripped to let Gandalf pour buckets of water drawn from the sea over him. He gasped at the coldness; it left him feeling refreshed, but the salt was making his hair more wayward. He tried to run his fingers through the tangles and winced. He could hear Sam’s voice. ‘Have you seen your hair, my love? It needs a wash and a trim to make you look respectable.’
He rubbed a towel over his face as his tears came, and blinked at the morning sun. Hurriedly, he finished drying and pulled on his clothes. Leaning over the side, watching Gandalf drop the leather bucket overboard to haul up more water, gave Frodo a chance to regain his composure. He suddenly realised he was staring at a large board, hinged to the side of the ship like a giant oval paddle, part lowered into the water. He understood rudders from his time on the Anduin, he had seen how moving the tiller turned a boat like an otter using its thick tail, but of what use was a rudder on the side of the ship?
He slipped across the deck, the wind in his face now, whipping his hair into more tangles. There was a board here, as well, but this one was raised and lashed in place. It was one of the many mysteries that confronted him at every turn. He looked up at the sun. There was no doubt that they were not sailing West. Another mystery, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask for explanations. He made his way forward to take up his favourite seat and was disappointed to see an elf standing there, looking out to sea. The interloper turned at his approach, although Frodo could have sworn he had made no noise.
‘Good morning, my lord Iorhael,’ the elf said with a smile. ‘My name is Aerandir. How do you like my ship?’
‘She is very beautiful,’ said Frodo. ‘She seems to skim over the water.’ Aerandir smiled at him in delight, and Frodo was emboldened to admit his ignorance to this tall sea-wanderer. ‘Why do we not sail West?’ he asked as he seated himself and drew his cloak close: he was feeling chilled, and his shoulder was paining him more than usual.
‘The wind will not let us,’ Aerandir said. He looked around for some aid to his explanation, failed to find anything, and sat next to Frodo to trace patterns on the seat between them with his finger. ‘The wind has blown from the West since we took the Straight Path,’ he said. ‘If we tried to sail directly into it, we would be blown backwards or at the best make no head way. We turn, so, and the wind fills our sails and sends us on our way. Now, that course will not bring us to Tol Eressëa and the haven of Avallónë, and so we must turn again and sail like this.’ He drew a series of zigzags bringing his finger to an imaginary port.
A voice came carrying down the ship. ‘Ready about!’
‘Now, watch,’ said Aerandir. Elves ran to loosen off the ropes holding the sails taut, and the prow swung round. As she came round, two elves hauled on a rope to bring the large board up, while the rest ran to sheet in the sails and secure them on the opposite side. It reminded Frodo of a well rehearsed dance. The board that had been raised was lowered, and the ship picked up speed again.
‘What do the boards do?’ asked Frodo, intrigued.
‘They are lee boards. They allow us more room in the hold, for stabling Mithrandir’s horse, for instance. Some ships have a fixed keel below, but that limits where they can go - deep water only - and some have a centreboard that can be raised or lowered, but that takes up a lot of space.’
‘But why have them at all?’
‘Because without them, the wind would push us sideways in the water. When we run down wind -’ Aerandir saw Frodo’s frown of confusion and corrected himself. ‘I mean when the wind is blowing behind us, we do not need them, and both are raised.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You are welcome. Is there anything else you would like to know?’
‘I was wondering about the different sails.’ said Frodo, finding the new knowledge a welcome distraction.
‘This one near the bow is what we call a lateen sail, but the other two are gaff rigged. I have a model of her in my cabin, it will be easiest to explain using that, if you would like to come and look. I have examples of all the different knots and splices we use, as well, if you are interested.’ Frodo nodded, but the sunlight dimmed around him as he saw Sam sitting cross-legged, showing him how to tie a variety of knots. It’s in the family, as you might say.
‘Thank you. Yes, I would like that,’ he managed, ‘but not just now. Will you excuse me; I need to lie down.’ He contained his grief until he was in his small room, wedged into the corner where his bed met the planking of the wall. He curled into a ball and let his tears flow unhindered.
He was aware of Bilbo joining him. The old hobbit patted his hand and stroked the salt matted fur of his feet, until Frodo uncurled from his corner and accepted the comfort of Bilbo’s arm around him.
‘When you’re ready, my lad,’ said Bilbo’s quiet voice. ‘I hope you’ll tell me all about Sam. If I don’t mention him, it’s not because I have no interest in hearing about him, and about your daughter, your little star-flower.’
Frodo nodded. ‘Not now,’ he said, hoarsely. He opened his eyes and looked at the age blotched hand holding his, and felt the thinness of the wrinkled skin. He should not, perhaps, delay the telling too long, but his mind shied away from the memory of his first realisation of all that Sam meant to him.
‘Aerandir mentioned Shadowfax was stabled below,’ he said to change the subject as he rubbed his eyes. Bilbo handed him a handkerchief: he seemed to have a limitless supply.
‘Shall we go and find him?’
‘He might like some company. It must be dreary for him.’
‘Good. Then, I think, you should have something to eat.’
They went to the stores first and collected a couple of apples, one for Bilbo and one for Shadowfax. They found the great horse had an elf in attendance, keeping guard over the lantern that swung above the combustible straw. Shadowfax accepted the apple graciously, bending his neck down so that his small visitors could make a fuss of him. They talked to him for a little while and then went back on deck. Bilbo broke off small pieces from a wafer of lembas, feeding them to Frodo as he asked what Aerandir had spoken of. Frodo explained what he had learnt, and then cocked an eyebrow at Bilbo.
‘You are cozening me into eating, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Does it matter?’ asked Bilbo. ‘If it works? You don’t want not to eat, do you?’
‘No, of course not. I eat what I can, but I can only swallow so much before my throat closes, and there is a pain here.’ He pushed his fist up under his rib cage.
‘And yet you’ve just eaten a whole lembas, thinking of other things.’ Bilbo smiled happily at him.
Frodo nodded. ‘Thank you. It was a good trick.’ He looked up as Gandalf and Elrond stood before him, Galadriel he rarely saw.
‘Iorhael, why did you not say you had a pain,’ said Elrond, kneeling before him; he probed gently until Frodo winced. ‘Does it hurt more when you eat?’
Frodo shook his head. ‘No, it’s just a dull ache. It kills my appetite.’
‘And you thought it was your grief and therefore didn’t warrant mentioning,’ said Elrond. Frodo shrugged; he had expected to feel pain when he left Sam. More pain, he corrected himself: his shoulder rarely gave him respite, and today seemed worse than usual. Elrond stood again. ‘If you do not tell us, we cannot help you,’ he said gently. ‘I will have an infusion made that I believe will help.’ He laid his hand to Frodo’s brow and closed his eyes. Frodo looked from Elrond to Gandalf and felt their worry. He tried to calculate the days on board the ship, but they were a blur: interludes of grief and calm that defied quantification. He could make a shrewd guess, though.
‘It’s the sixth day of Win’filth, in the Shire reckoning,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it?’ It explained the chill he was feeling.
Gandalf sighed and nodded. ‘I think we should hold you safe in sleep, Frodo,’ he said. ‘If you are willing.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll be guided by you.’ The thought of sleep and oblivion were attractive for other reasons. ‘Bilbo?’
‘I won’t leave you, Frodo-lad.’
‘Come to your room, Frodo,’ said Gandalf. ‘We will be cramped, but we can’t think of anywhere better. Have you eaten?’
Frodo nodded, and Bilbo added the details. ‘A whole lembas wafer,’ he said, and there was a touch of pride in his voice that made Gandalf smile down on them both.
‘Good. I’m pleased to hear it.’
There was just enough room for Elrond to sit crossed legged at the head of the bed, one hand cupping Frodo’s chin, the other laid across his brow. Bilbo clambered over Frodo, grumbling about the lack of room, and interlocked his fingers with those of Frodo’s left hand. Frodo reached for the star-gem with his free hand, then hesitated, and fumbled for his jacket instead to bring out the carved robin. He held it tightly against his chest as a drowsiness spread through his mind and he slipped into sleep.
For a while he drifted, but he became aware of a battle of light and dark. The dark was trying to spread through his body, but the light kept it in check. He struggled in and out of dreams that became more frightening, and it seemed as though the dark were making headway. Suddenly, the bright light flared out in brilliant radiance, and there was Galadriel walking towards him across the woods and fields and little rivers of the Shire.
She smiled at him, and he felt the chill retreat. ‘Show me your Shire,’ she said.
Together they walked through his favourite haunts. He showed her woods, since she was a lover of trees, and all his most beloved and secret places. They turned back to the Hill and sat looking out over the Party Field, where the mallorn flowered and a party was in full swing. Excited cries of childish joy drifted up on a warm breeze. The smell of thyme was heavy on the air, mingling with the honeyed scent of primroses. Bees were flying meandering paths from flower to flower, their pollen baskets bright yellow with the bounty that dusted over them as they sipped the nectar; and all the time the sweet song of a lark poured down from the blue sky above.
Frodo took a deep breath and relaxed, all darkness forgotten. A tangled growth of wild dog-rose grew a little way down the hill, and he watched as a robin hopped from branch to branch. Suddenly it opened its beak, and the red throat fluttered as it gave forth its musical song.
Galadriel smiled at him. ‘The robin represents sacrifice and rebirth of the spirit,’ she said quietly. ‘Did you know? He leads us into new beginnings without fear and restores faith within our hearts.’
Frodo opened his hand and gazed with wonder at the small form he held. Did Sam know that?
Galadriel answered the unspoken question. ‘Only in his heart, I think. Not in his mind. If you had asked him, he would have said it was a pretty bird that lightened his spirit with its friendly ways.’
‘And that its song is wholesome and cheering,’ added Frodo.
‘Yes. It speaks of letting go of the old life and welcoming the new.’
Frodo lay back on the sun-warmed turf, lulled by bird song and the buzzing of bees. His fingers curled round the robin again. He closed his eyes and slept.
When he awoke, he was disorientated again, until his body tuned in to the rhythm of the ship. There was daylight coming through the small round window, slanting low as though it were early in the morning. Beside him Bilbo was wrapped in a blanket and sleeping propped against the wall, but his hand still held Frodo’s. Frodo tilted his head to look up at Elrond and was greeted with a smile.
‘Good morning, small one.’
Frodo felt a pang of guilt when he saw how pale and drawn Elrond looked.
‘Thank you, my Lord... my Lady.’
‘You are welcome, Iorhael. It was a pleasure to see the Shire through the eyes of one of its own.’
Frodo turned his head and there was Gandalf lying stretched out on his bed. He appeared to be asleep, but Frodo knew different.
‘Thank you, Mithrandir.’
Gandalf open his eyes and turned his head to smile at Frodo.
‘My dear Frodo. I don’t think Sam understands quite how amazing it is that he protected you in the Shire. Oh, you played your part, don’t get me wrong, but here we three were hard pressed to help you. Such love as you share is a rare gift.’ Frodo nodded and felt the emptiness in his heart. He knew he was lucky to have shared all that he had with Sam. He eased his fingers from Bilbo’s and sat up, tears welling in his eyes.
Elrond extricated himself from the confining space and stretched as well as he could. He bent down to kiss Frodo on the brow and took his leave. Given more room, Frodo fussed around the old hobbit, supporting him as he laid him down with a pillow for his head. Bilbo muttered a little in his sleep, but did not wake. Here was another who’d had weary vigil on his behalf. Frodo felt blessed, even in the midst of his loss. He was surrounded by love, and he fervently hoped that his dearest love was equally blessed.
‘He must be back home by now, Gandalf,’ he said carefully, fighting the catch in his throat that tried to choke the words.
‘Yes, he will be home. Rosie will look after him, and Merry and Pippin will stay close, I think. Even your sweet Elanor will care for him in her own small way.’
Frodo swallowed and nodded again. He held the robin cupped in his hands, and rubbed his thumb over its breast. There was a slight roughness to the surface. The bird had been carved so that the delicate legs stood out in relief from a background of wood, presumably to avoid the danger of the small sculpture snapping, but the body was carved in the round. The sharp little beak was the only part that Frodo needed to take care not to damage. There was no colour on the robin; its red breast, like a bib, was indicated by a series of tiny chisel marks. The wings were very subtly raised from the body, again with chisel marks to delineate the primary feathers. The head was turned slightly, regarding him with an eye almost as beady as the original. He’d had no idea that Sam could do this, although he knew Sam turned his hand to carpentry when the need arose.
He leads us into new beginnings without fear and restores faith within our hearts.
He would have faith. Faith that Sam would live to thrive, faith that they would be reunited, even faith that this empty feeling would fade. He flexed the fingers of his left hand a little, reassured that he seemed to have full use of his arm, and slid from the bed to dress. For the first time he looked forward in his mind to his journey’s end and not back to the Shire. It was a moment before he realised that there was no list to the floor and that the familiar creak of ropes and lap of water were missing.
‘We’re not moving,’ he said.
‘The wind died away yesterday evening,’ said Gandalf. ‘I think it will not be long in returning.’ Sure enough, as they emerged into the sunshine, Frodo felt a breeze blowing from the east where the sun hung large above the horizon. There was a sudden flurry of activity around him; the helmsman was bringing the ship around until the wind blew in over the stern, and the great gaff-rigged sails were being swung out to either side like wings of a bird.
They joined Aerandir in the stern and he bowed to them in greeting. ‘Now we shall speed on our way,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I was worried that the winds seemed so contrary to us. Almost it seemed as though Manwë contested our coming.’
‘No, no!’ said Gandalf. ‘If the Lord Manwë had wished to stop us, we would have had a great storm raised against us, that is if the Lord Ulmo had allowed us to find the Straight Path at all. Say rather that my lord wished us to take our time - and now he wishes us all speed. Even the smallest amongst us is in his care.’
Frodo blinked at that. The sails billowed out, no longer closely restrained as they had been, and he turned into the wind, his hair blowing back from his face. ‘The wind is fair,’ he said to Aerandir, changing the subject to one easier to encompass, ‘but we do not seem to be travelling so fast.’
‘That is naught but an illusion,’ replied the captain. ‘We are racing with the wind, but the motion is smoother because we do not heel. The wind feels lighter, does it not? But if we turned, you would find it strong enough.’
Frodo nodded his understanding. Walking the uplands of the Shire on a windy day, it was possible to think the going easy - until one turned and met the full force of the wind. He turned his back to the east once more, but the two main sails obscured his view. He left Gandalf and Aerandir talking, and walked under the nearest boom; squinting up at the sail, he had a fleeting vision of Sam, overcoming his aversion to boats in his overwhelming interest in the myriad work done by ropes.
It was a happy thought, leading as it did to the thought of a possible reunion. He made his way forward and stood looking ahead. There seemed to be a bank of cloud hanging across the sea, like the warning of distant rain during a walk in the Shire. The fact that it was downwind was encouraging: hopefully it would be blowing away ahead of them. A hand on his shoulder made him turn. It was Bilbo, smiling at him. He hugged the old hobbit and accepted the proffered cup of the golden liquid he had first tasted in the woods above Woodhall.
‘How did you fare, lad?’ asked Bilbo with concern, digging in his pocket for a wafer of lembas in its leafy wrapping.
‘I’m fine, Bilbo.’ He kissed the lined cheek. ‘Thank you for your care.’
‘Psh!’ said Bilbo dismissively. ‘I did very little except fall asleep with you. And as for “fine” - when you’re fine I’ll know it, but I reckon Gandalf’s right.’ Frodo raised an eyebrow for an explanation, and Bilbo waved a hand. ‘Oh, he says you’re doing as well as can be expected, but he sounded proud of you, so I’d take that as a piece of wizardly understatement, if I were you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I could do with some proper food, something that fills the belly more than that waybread. After that, what do you say to a pipe? We’ll run out of weed soon enough, but I fancy a smoke this morning.’
‘Yes, a pipe would be good. I thought you’d given up. I’ll go and get mine.’
‘No need, my boy. I’ll collect yours on the way back from breakfast.’
Frodo watched Bilbo walk away, and spent some time thinking how much more alert his cousin seemed compared to two years ago in Rivendell; but then adventures had always suited Bilbo. From there, his mind turned to Sam holding forth on the subjects of adventures and stories. Frodo sat down hurriedly and curled over in misery; he wanted nothing more than Sam at his side. He could imagine Sam slipping in beside him, and wrapping his arms round him, could imagine him nuzzling into his hair and pulling him close to offer him words of comfort.
‘Sam,’ he whispered, and let the tears come.
There was a soft cough, and Bilbo was back, holding out his pipe. He wiped his eyes, took the pipe, and they huddled into the narrow angle at the back of the seat where the sides of the ship came together to sweep up into the proud prow. This gave enough shelter to set light to the weed, and they straightened and sat side by side, their legs swinging. It was something they would have to get used to; no doubt Bilbo was already used to it, having lived so long amongst Elves. Staying in Rivendell and Minas Tirith, it had been the size of everything that had wearied Frodo, although a large bed was a very fine thing when shared with Sam...
He choked on the smoke, which at least explained his watering eyes, and Bilbo thumped him on the back.
‘Do you want to talk about Sam?’ asked Bilbo, looking up at the lateen sail.
‘Not yet, if you don’t mind,’ said Frodo quietly.
‘No, I don’t mind. Would it trouble you if I talk about him?’
‘I... I don’t know.’
‘Only I was remembering him when you used to come visiting, before you moved into Bag End. He used to get into trouble with Hamfast...’ Bilbo trailed off, his gaze still fixed on the sail.
Frodo sat up. ‘Trouble?’
Bilbo turned to look at him, and Frodo knew he had fallen for his cousin’s wiles.
‘When he knew you were expected, he was that jittery,’ said Bilbo, with a smile. He used to forget what he was doing and weed up some prized plant or mulch the cowslips out of existence.’
‘Sam? I don’t believe it!’
‘It’s true. He was only, oh, seven or eight I suppose, but he was so excited if he knew you were coming that he couldn’t contain himself. He’d be down to the gate a dozen times in an hour, until Hamfast would threaten to send him home.’
Frodo found it was less painful to remember the small Sam, who adored him with childish fervour, than think of grown Sam who was another facet of himself. He closed his eyes again and pictured the round face looking up at him, the eyes large, a streak of dirt across his forehead, the trusting expression that told Frodo he was expected to be delighted with the large toad that he was being offered.
‘Where did you find him, Sam?’
‘Underneaf the stone, by the pump,’ said Sam proudly.
‘I expect he would be pleased if we put him back there, don’t you? And then we’d better wash your hands.’
‘You told me a story ‘bout toads.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to kiss this one.’
Sam found this so funny he nearly dropped the creature, and Frodo squatted down hurriedly to cup his hands under the smaller, brown, earth-begrimed ones. He took the toad, and together they returned to the pump to release it. The squat, knobbly creature immediately started crawling unhurriedly towards its sanctuary, its legs swinging out at right angles to its body, left legs moving together, then right.
‘Now, come and wash your hands, Sam, before you put one to your mouth or eyes.’
‘They only makes the bitterness if you frightens them,’ said Sam, confidently.
‘Well, I think I would have been frightened, taken out of my home.’
‘Are you frighted?’
‘No. Should I be?’
‘Well, you’re outta your home.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I always feel as though I’m at home here.’
Yes, he’d always felt at home at Bag End, and Sam had played his part in that. He realised he was being watched with interest.
‘Good memories?’ asked Bilbo. ‘We can talk about small Sam?’ Frodo nodded, answering both questions.
‘Did you know he used to make posies of flowers for you room, when he knew you were coming?’
‘I remember.’ The flowers had changed with the seasons, but they had always been there to welcome him.
‘Hamfast never could see the point of cluttering up the garden with flowers, he’d have been happy if the whole place had been laid to vegetables, but young Sam saw their beauty. He told me once why flowers were so beautiful, but that was when he was nearly a tweener and had taken over all the flower gardening.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, he said it was so we’d take care of them.’
‘When he found I liked sweet-peas he planted rows and rows of them, all different colours; whites and pinks and reds, and a purple so dark it was almost black.’
‘He put so many round the smial that I had to buy new vases to keep up with him.’
‘The smell was heavenly,’ said Frodo, and closed his eyes again to take a deep breath, trying to recreate the memory of the sweet-scented flowers. There was a hint of sweetness on the air; like, and yet unlike, the familiar scent of sweet-peas.
He opened his eyes, but there was no sign of where it was coming from. The sun was riding high in the sky now, and he shifted to keep in the shade from the sail.
‘I’m going to have some lunch now,’ said Bilbo, ‘and then I’m going to take a nap.’
I’ll come with you, for the nap anyway,’ said Frodo. The sea-air and the sun were making him sleepy, and there would be little shade under the noon sun. He rested well, clutching the robin to his breast, and woke to a feeling of change. The air was noticeably cooler, and he pulled on his cloak. Leaving Bilbo to sleep, he climbed up to the deck and turned to the West.
The wind had slackened, and the sails were not as bowed as they had been. He walked forward feeling as though he were in a dream. Elves were thronging the deck, but he walked unhindered until he could get a clear view forward. Then he saw it. Like a veil across their path, the bank of rain he had seen in the morning was very close, and the sun was just sinking towards it. He turned and ran back to the ladder, but Bilbo was just coming, grumbling at Gandalf who was shepherding him along.
‘I was having a perfectly nice dream, Master Gandalf,’ said Bilbo testily, ‘so this better be worth it. Why do you always have to be so secretive, hmmm?’
Frodo caught his hand and towed him back to the prow. Here the Elves were clustered most thickly, but they made room and lifted the hobbits onto the seat. At first, Frodo slipped his arm around Bilbo to hold him steady, but the boat was gliding slowly through smooth water and there was no real danger of a fall. It was almost as though they were being drawn forward, rather than driven from behind by the light wind. He let his arm fall, and they clasped hands as they sailed into a night of rain.
He had no idea how long they stood there, time seem to have no meaning, but Frodo gradually became aware that the fragrance was back, stronger now, and there was the sweet singing, as he had known there would be. The song lit the curtain to a grey mist, and then the sun rising behind them was reflected back to dazzle their eyes, as the whole veil was turned to silver glass.
They sailed on, and the veil rolled back and the song swelled to a triumphant theme, crashing around them as though the song itself was not only light, but water, foaming into breakers on a shelving shore. Frodo felt suffused with peace. He could hear the sad refrain of loss, waiting its turn to rise in the song, but for now it was muted. He had told Sam no more than the truth: what he felt was a quiet joy as the rising sun lit up the distant land. Even from this far away, he could see a band of white shoreline edging black and purple cliffs, and beyond, green hills that disappeared into mists.
Frodo suddenly became aware that Gandalf was at his side. The wizard sighed and smiled down at him. ‘Tol Eressëa,’ he said. ‘The Lonely Isle, the Land of Release.’ He bent and kissed Frodo on the brow, and they both turned again to watch the unfolding scene. Frodo could feel Gandalf’s contentment, but the feelings of Elrond and Galadriel were hidden from him.
As they sailed closer Frodo could see birds clustering on the cliffs, and the air was full of their wild cries. The wind had strengthened with the rising sun, and they were flying over the water towards a white tower that beckoned them into harbour. A flotilla of small craft, many of them with prows shaped into swans heads, came sailing out to meet them. They reminded Frodo of ducklings flocking around a duck. The shoreline was giving way to a white city, and Frodo had to shade his eyes at the light reflecting from the tall buildings. Gandalf handed him lembas and a drink, and he took them in abstraction, barely aware that he chewed or swallowed.
‘That is Avallónë,’ said Gandalf quietly. Frodo nodded, somehow he had known that. He wondered if Gandalf would be journeying on to Valinor, and the thought was not a welcome one. They had not spoken of Gandalf’s plans once they arrived. Ropes were thrown and made fast to nearby boats, and there was a flurry of activity as the sails were lowered. They were towed to a crowded quayside, and the gulls cried incessantly above.
‘Come,’ said Gandalf. ‘They are lowering the gangplank.’
Already the Elves were disembarking and joining their voices to that of the waiting throng, and Frodo felt very small amongst so many bodies. He looked at Bilbo, but his cousin still appeared as though he were in a dream. Frodo steered him down the gangplank and was hit by a wave of disorientation as he stepped ashore. It felt as though the quayside had become as fluid as water, and the stone was flowing up and down like waves. He staggered, and all his grief flowed in.
‘Sam,’ he whispered, and once more he fell into darkness.