Filled with Light as with Water

by Larner

Preface

This piece of fan fiction is the sequel to For Eyes to See as Can, and tells the story of the healing of Frodo Baggins on Tol Eressëa. It’s considerably shorter than its predecessor, for which many will probably be glad. It is primarily told from Frodo’s own point of view, a description of his experiences he has written for Sam so that Sam can begin to understand what has brought him to the point in which Sam finds him on his own arrival in the Undying Lands. Again, at the end we shift focus, first to Sam, then to the King Elessar, and finally to Glorfindel, as we see how others again respond to the evidence of how Frodo has been prepared for his final release.

I have started with the premise that both physical and spiritual healing for Frodo will take some time, and that not all the changes will be necessarily comfortable . Nor will adapting to such a drastically different situation and the changes he senses in his companions and himself be particularly simple. And I have followed through on the foreshadowing Gandalf had during Frodo’s recovery in Rivendell, that Frodo is likely to become as a vessel of glass filled with light as with water, for eyes to see as can, a description I’ve always found has tugged at my own imagination.

I have done a bit of compression of time, making the summer after Sam's leaving the time in which Merry and Pippin decide to leave the Shire for good, first going to Rohan and then to Gondor. One place where I have managed to play a bit with book canon.

Again, I don’t own the characters nor the story which sparked my own flight of fancy. I simply hope that the story resonates in others, and that it sparks thought and enjoyment.

B.L.S.

October 22, 2004

Dedicated to the memory of Tony Sherrell, with love

"Dream of the ones who've gone before"

Taking Ship

"Frodo? Frodo!" The voice was becoming insistent, commanding.

I did not wish to waken, to come back from that Place where the herbs allowed me to retreat. It was so beautiful there, so quiet--almost like being in Lothlorien again; and from it I could glimpse the open Way to Beyond, and that was so inviting. It had been inviting for quite a while, except before the Way had been barred with gates that could only be opened by paying with intense pain, or blood--or, more like, with both. Here there was no barrier I could see, and I’d been slowly approaching the Way, examining it, contemplating it.

I’d seen it before, but at that time I had paid the price and the gates had swung open. I’d been almost through the Way when the King called after, and at last I’d returned, and the gates had closed behind me as I turned about, went back to a body I barely recognized, so much had it changed during the time the Ring had held me. But now--no gates. I could pass through at any time....

I could hear murmurs. "What is happening?"

"I do not understand--never have I seen a mortal respond thus! It ought simply to have allowed him to draw strength!"

"He is not as he was, Elrond. The Becoming apparently has continued."

"He cannot go before me! I won’t allow it! He deserves the chance to know happiness again!"

"Would you put off your own leaving, Small Master?"

"For his sake, of course!"

Then I ceased to listen, moved even closer to the Way, suddenly hopeful of entering in at last.... And the voice called after me, called my name. I ignored it.

Then a different voice called me, one which I had once been conditioned to obey, although my obedience had been commanded not by fear or mere authority, but by love. "Frodo Baggins, come back now. What would your mother say to you spurning a gift before you’d properly received it?"

I awoke, opened my eyes to look up into the faded eyes of Bilbo, who leaned over me. For the first time since Sam and I had joined the Elves on the way to the Havens, his eyes were clear and present, and he appeared to have almost a full measure of the vigor which had always marked him. Over his shoulder stood a shining presence that I thought was Gandalf, although my vision was clouded. I’d not told Sam that my vision had begun to fade at times--had told no one. I could see some things so clearly, others only as faded blurs. It was not as it had been when I had worn the Ring--then all had been distorted, limned with black fire that reflected the red Fire of the Eye. Now things simply were not clearly seen, not unless I needed to see them or looked with care. And I apparently needed to see the eyes of Bilbo now, for I could see them--the love, the caring, the concern they communicated.

I lay on some kind of bed in a chamber lit by a brazier which hung by chains from the ceiling, the brazier swaying gently with the gentle rolling of the ship. I could see the brazier, beyond Bilbo’s head, beyond the vague brightness that was Gandalf. There must be a door, I thought, and I started to look for it, and found myself starting to drift away, back to the Place where I’d been, and glimpsing it I returned.

I did not remember coming here to this room. I’d stood on the deck, Galadriel and Gandalf beside me, holding up the Phial for as long as I could, wanting Sam to see it, wanting to reassure him. Then the coldness had started to return, and Elrond had come to me with the herbal drink, and I’d drunk deeply. I know when I drank it along the way I’d felt distant from my body, as if it took me halfway out of it. On the ship it appeared to be more potent, although I do not believe the strength of it was as much as he’d given to me the first time we’d paused our journey to the Havens. I felt a lightness I’d not felt for many, many years; and a heaviness of the weight of life I still longed to relieve myself of. I sighed, looked again into Bilbo’s eyes, felt his love enfold me. I blinked several times, seeking to clear my vision.

"You are awake," I whispered--I’d not the strength to do more.

"Yes, I’m awake--for a time, Frodo. For as long as you need me, dear one, I’ll be by you. I’ve been granted that grace. So you’d best seek to recover, lad, so I can take my last steps on my own journey. I’ve delayed enough as it is, insisting as I did to be allowed to pass the Old Took, foolish as I was."

"I’d be there to welcome you...."

"No! No, don’t try that reasoning on me, Frodo Baggins. I have lived a full life, while the last twenty years of yours have been dominated by That Awakened--That and its legacy. You deserve more, and deserve healing, deserve to be able to appreciate the love that all have tried to give you without the separation enforced by the Pain. Now, I demand that you awaken and stay with me at least until we reach Tol Eressëa. Do you hear me, Frodo?" Reluctantly I nodded. But I could not remain awake--I turned my head away and drifted into sleep, a nearly dreamless sleep. But this time I did not seek that Place from which I could see the Way.

I awoke to find Elrond was setting a basin of metal on a ring over the brazier. This obscured the light of its flames; but the room seemed brighter, for I could see the Light which filled the Elven Lord, which now shone from him clearly. I realized that when I’d awakened earlier a similar Light had shone from Gandalf, but different in quality somehow. Once the basin was settled, he turned to look at me, and noting I was awake he left his work to lean over me.

"How do you feel, Frodo?"

I tried to assess myself. "I’m not sure. Maybe more--more...present?"

He examined my face, touched my brow. "You are more sensitive to the herbs I used on you than Bilbo is, Frodo--almost too sensitive. You reacted as would an Elf, not as normally would a mortal within my experience." He lifted my eyelid, had me open my mouth and examined my tongue and gums, took my hands and examined the nails, held my wrist. I could smell the distinct moistness of steam, apparently rising from the basin over the brazier. I looked toward it, and this drew his attention back to it. He glanced back at me, smiled, then rose and took up something green that had been lying on the stand that stood beside where I lay. I looked at it curiously.

"Athelas?" I asked, and he nodded. "May I see it, sir?" He paused, then gave a large, soft leaf into my hand.

I easily recognized it, for it was now growing in several places on the Hill and had done so since soon after our return from Gondor. "So," I said, "that is what is growing outside my window and in a ring about the new oak atop the Hill." I laughed, the first--normal--laughter I’d enjoyed in some time. "My dear, dear, practical Sam!"

He took back the leaf and breathed on it, rubbed it between his hands, and that now familiar scent filled my room, but stronger than I had become accustomed to. As he dropped the leaf into the basin, he sang, sang the prayer Sam has murmured in Westron so often as he’d done similarly. And the odor of the Sea somehow combined with Spring in the Woody End filled the chamber, filled me and lifted me up, away from the burden and the emptiness. I murmured, "You know, this is the first time I’ve actually known I was looking at athelas. I know it was used on me, but I’ve always been so distracted by pain and illness, or was simply not conscious--so ill that I couldn’t care to examine it."

He smiled down at me, came and knelt again by my head, caressing my brow. "Sam wrote me that he gave you packets of the leaves to take with you when you traveled throughout the Shire."

"Yes, but I didn’t always remember it, and Budgie Smallfoot didn’t like to trust to an herb whose properties he did not know. And I never knew it was athelas until Pippin noted it when I gave him some of the tea before the dinner with his parents."

He sighed, then opened the nightshirt with which I found myself clad to examine my shoulder, placed his hand upon the scar there, bowed his head, and again sang, but a different song this time, one that filled me with the Light of his being. It filled the wound as had the cold of the splinter of blade which had once been left in it, and then the Light spilled over, warming me, relaxing me, and I drifted away. I saw the Place, started toward it--then his hand took my shoulder, turned me back.

"No, Frodo, not yet--you promised Bilbo, remember?"

I nodded reluctantly, then once again drifted into sleep.

Voyaging

I awoke at last and felt like rising, and found a light robe had been left for me. As I fastened the knots that were plainly intended to hold it closed and looped a sash about my waist, there was a knock at the door, which I saw was beyond the brazier, which was now cool and unlit. I called out, "Please, enter," and it opened to admit Gildor Inglorion, who smiled as he approached.

"Ah, you look very well in that, Iorhael," he told me. I felt my face flush, for very rarely had anyone ever used the Elvish form of my name when addressing me--only Bilbo a time or two when I was still a lad at Brandy Hall, and at first when as a tween I came to Bag End to live with him. "I came to show you the ways of the Ship, and to bring you to the others, if you wish to join us."

I do not know how long I explored the Ship, guided by him, before I finally indicated I was ready to see my companions. I felt strange to myself, somehow, almost as if this robe I wore allowed a different Frodo to become manifest.

He led me to a large chamber, and I saw that windows at the far end of it lit part of the room, but that they were silver with rain. Lamps on the near side filled it with a soft glow, a glow enhanced by the company that filled it. For each Elven presence was surrounded by a distinct aura, each a different color such as I’d never seen before, all pleasing but at the same time bewildering. And dozing in a chair in the corner to my right, a mug on a shelf suspended from the wall beside him, sat Bilbo. On the other side of the shelf sat Gandalf--and the Light emanating from him was the greatest of all. I could now see him clearly, the smile on his shining face, the core of Joy that filled him, barely held in place, it seemed, by the body which contained it. And I hurried to him, almost as I’d once hurried to welcome him to the Shire when he’d come to visit Bag End when I was a tween, hurried to him, knelt, and put my head in his lap. I suddenly felt overwhelmed, finding myself surrounded by beings that shone with inner Light, being dressed as I’d never been in all my days, traveling on a construction so large and alien to my people, going to a place where I knew no mortal had been permitted before. I was overwhelmed by the strange, conflicting feelings that filled me and fought for dominance, and by the confusion of feeling at one and the same time both stronger than I’d been for some time, and yet weaker. In spite of the changes I saw in him, Gandalf was familiar, comforting. He stroked the back of my head, then reached down and lifted me into his lap, as if I were just a lad once more and he were an uncle come to call--just as Bilbo had done when I was small. He held me close to his breast and rocked with me in his arms, murmured soothing words I barely heard, and I clung to him, my face to his chest.

I felt a hand touch my ankle, and realized Bilbo must have wakened. "Dear boy," I heard him say, "my dear boy."

"I’m sorry," I said at last. "I don’t know for certain what has come over me, to find myself clinging so." But when I would have straightened, Gandalf simply held me to him.

"No need, Frodo; just stay still now. You have been ill for quite some time, and healing will not be a simple matter. Nor will it be always easy to adjust to the changes in your surroundings. You are not an Elf, after all, and this ship was built for their comfort and needs, not for those of Hobbits."

I was aware of the Light increasing behind me, realized that the Lady and Elrond were approaching. I felt the now familiar touch on my thoughts, remotely examining the dreams, the visions. I felt Elrond touch the back of my neck. Then Gandalf rose, and still carrying me, he left the room, turned into a smaller chamber nearby, sat down again. When I turned my head to the left, I saw there was only one window in this room, and that it was small and round, which for some reason I found reassuring. I turned further, and saw Elrond and Galadriel and Bilbo had followed us, and now stood facing me as I huddled in Gandalf’s lap. Bilbo’s face was worried, Elrond’s, as he placed one hand on my uncle’s shoulder in comfort, concerned, the Lady’s calm and sad.

"So, Ringbearer," she said softly, "you have seen that the Way to the Halls of Mandos is open for you, unbarred now, and you are greatly tempted to follow that path."

I nodded. "Yes, my Lady," I said, ashamed. I looked down. The door opened, and three Elves entered quietly from the passage, bringing in what proved to be folded chairs, and a small table, which they now set up for the others, placing cushions on one for Bilbo and assisting him to sit in it before they left. Then others came, with a basin, with flagons and goblets of fine gold, and a plate of some form of cake or bread which they set down on the table. Elrond and Gandalf acknowledged their service with thanks, while Galadriel continued to look at me with an expression that was at one and the same time both sad and serene, and Bilbo looked at me with compassion. Bilbo’s face was now aware, but pale. I remembered him along the way to the Havens, the sleep which had held him so much of the way, the frailty. That frailty was still there, although he now seemed better able to remain awake. I closed my eyes and turned back to Gandalf’s chest, hid my face.

Another opening, then closing of the door; more soft footsteps, the sound of something placed on the table. Then the newest footsteps retreating, one more opening and closing, the sound of a liquid being poured. Then the hand on my shoulder, Elrond’s voice speaking my name.

"Frodo," he said a second time, "turn and drink this." I sighed and complied at last, turned to see he held a small cup in his hand, held it for me to drink. When I reached to take it, he waved my hand away. "No, small one, I will hold it for you as you drink."

It was not what I’d been given before, although I could tell it had had athelas steeped in it when the liquid was warm. Now it was cool and somewhat sour, but not unpleasantly so. Yet it seemed to be difficult for me to drink it, and it was some while before the cup, small as it was, emptied. I felt at last the voice of Gandalf echoing in his chest as my ear lay back against it.

"You are a difficult one to keep with us, Iorhael. But you do not deserve to take that Way still burdened by guilt and the memories of a shame that was not earned."

"I am a mortal, Gandalf," I whispered. "I must take it one day, and to see the gates closed again for me would be a great grief." I swallowed, felt tears on my face--I hadn’t realized I’d started to weep till now. "To be allowed at last to lay down the Burden with the knowledge I would never be forced to take it up again...."

Bilbo gave a deep sigh. "Frodo, the Burden was lifted from you long ago."

I felt Gandalf shake his head. "No, not completely, Bilbo. The shadow of it has remained with him, and as he has weakened it has acquired almost the same weight for him as the Burden itself. And you know well that the desire of It remains long after It has gone from your possession."

Elrond was examining my eyes. "How long has your vision been dimmed, Frodo?"

"I’m not certain. I first noted there would be times when things were dimmed perhaps a year ago, after the anniversary of Weathertop. But then it would clear, usually almost as soon as I noted the dimming. But in the last three months, since I sickened going between the Great Smials and Budgeford, it has been worse, the dimming lasting longer at a time, doesn’t seem to withdraw as it did. I can see what I need to see, it seems. But...." I shrugged as words failed me.

Bilbo rose and came to me, reached up to stroke my hand. "The feeling of being overwhelmed seems to be past," he said after a time.

"The room glowed so with the Light of the Elves in it, and with Gandalf’s. And the windows and the rain as silver glass upon it...I felt as if my own skin were tightening around me, then as if it were becoming--insubstantial--somehow. It was too much, Bilbo. It was too much, and I felt the need to hide my eyes from it before I lost myself beyond recall."

Elrond nodded, sighed, and withdrew to sit on his chair to my right.

I asked, "Why did that room seem so large? I saw the ship as we came to it, as we came aboard--the room is twice the width of that of the ship, I’m certain."

Bilbo gave a laugh. "Frodo Lad, you must remember this ship was wrought by Cirdan himself, and that you travel with the greatest Elves of our Age--and with Mithrandir as well, who was the White Wizard at the last. If you think they cannot make--adjustments for their own comfort...." The laughter resumed, and was joined by Gandalf’s. I looked up into his face, saw the humor there, the shining of him, then saw him turn suddenly solemn.

"Frodo, can you forgive me for laying the Burden on you to begin with?" I could only look up into his face. "If I had not been concerned for Bilbo, I would perhaps have allowed him to take it with him at the end--but I became so fearful as I saw him apparently being taken by It."

"Did you know--did you know what--It--was, Gandalf?"

He shook his head. "I’d suspected, but couldn’t bring myself to believe it, not till I had unquestioned proof. If I were wrong, much evil could have come of it; and if I were right...." He shuddered, and I felt it against my body. "And I was right," he sighed. "Oh, I was right, and almost too late to do anything about it. And when it was proven Saruman himself had been lost just through the idea of it being somewhere within his finding, and that the Nine were abroad in search of it--my fear almost overcame me." He looked on me with grief in his eyes. "I tried so hard to find proof of what it was, but also to find proof it was not what I feared. When Bilbo told me of what it was like for him when Dol Guldur fell--I should have accepted the truth of it then. But what he told of his experience in wearing the thing did not exactly tally with what had been told by others who know the effects of the Great Rings, much less with my own experience," and he raised his hand to look at the Ring upon his own finger. "I had not taken into account that It was still more than half asleep, that It would not awaken until Its Master was threatened, and only then would vision be totally changed. I should have paid more attention to Bilbo’s description of how it appeared his vision was almost totally obscured at only one point of time while within the dwelling of Thranduil."

I shook my head, looked to my cousin. "When did you tell him that, Bilbo? I never heard tell of it."

"No," Gandalf said, "you did not, for you were at the inn with one of your Took relatives at the time. However, Sam could have told you, I believe."

I thought for a moment. "Ah, Samwise Gamgee and the windows of Bag End," I ventured, and again Gandalf smiled.

I looked to Galadriel, and thought of a question that had troubled me from time to time but which I’d never had the courage to ask. "When I put--It--on my finger, or Bilbo, or even Sam--we all became invisible. But I could see your Ring upon your hand, and all could plainly see you as you wore it, although you told me that only because I carried It could I see your Ring. Why, if the Great Rings make their wearers invisible, could we see you then?"

Her laughter was like the song of the stream of Nimrodel, melodious and swirling with sheer delight. "Ah, Iorhael, I was strong in my power ere Nenya came to me, and it never mastered me--from the start I mastered it. So it is--those strong enough to master the Great Rings could use our own mastery over them to hide or to display them at will--but they could not hide us unless we chose."

"So, my claiming It was futile."

She smiled now again with gentle sadness, leaned forward over the table. "I am sorry, but yes. You had perhaps the strength in one way, for your endurance was beyond belief. But...your spirit was not intended for such a form of domination as that one demanded for mastery."

"Oh." And I felt an odd sense of relief fill me. "But why did I not see the Rings on the hands of Gandalf or Lord Elrond?"

"Did you look for them, Ringbearer?"

I shook my head. "No, in reality, I never did."

Elrond smiled at me. "Do you think you can manage a little food? For a Hobbit you are most unusual in the small amount you’ve required to sustain life for some time, I fear."

"Must have learned the trick of it in Mordor," I found myself saying, and his smile broadened, though it was somewhat grim.

He broke apart one of the cakes and gave me a part of it. Its taste was similar to lembas, but also different, somewhat. I ate it slowly, and he poured a small amount of wine into a smaller goblet for me. Bilbo retreated to his chair and lifted himself into it, and accepted a portion from the Lady. Gandalf set me down at last beside him, near to Bilbo’s chair, and I realized this was a narrow couch covered in red leather. He reached to the right and lifted up a soft blanket and draped it gently over my shoulders, and I was reminded then of Sam, how he would note always when I grew cold and would do the same for me. And a feeling of loss filled me at the thought of him, going home to Rosie and little Elanor, and of the thought I would not see Elanor again in this life. I reached out to the table and set the remainder of my portion of the bread back on it, leaned back, drew the blanket around me. Bilbo reached out to take my hand, and I gripped his gratefully as I closed my eyes.

Gandalf put his left arm around my shoulders. "Sam is not the only one to know the anguish of having his heart torn in two, is he?" And I shook my head.

It was some time before they could coax the rest of the bread down me, and to then get me to drink. It was not miruvor, but again similar in effect. Then Elrond filled the goblet from the other pitcher, and I realized this was simple water he offered me, and I accepted it, drank it more quickly. He nodded his satisfaction.

"We cannot give you the herbal mixture I gave you at first, Frodo, for your reaction to it, as I told you before, indicates you are too sensitive to its effects. Sam had the right of it in relying primarily on the athelas. But your weakness at the end was such that it was not enough to aid you to complete your preparations to leave--it could sustain, but not renew your strength as you needed.

"Do you remember much of our journey together to the Havens?" I shook my head. "You drank the draught, but ate but little." I nodded. "The first time the draught as I gave it to you was quite strong, and you responded as I expected--the feeling of lightness, a slight intoxication, an easing of the pain in your heart and in your breathing. But then I realized you were withdrawing, that you saw green fields which mortals should not be able to perceive. But as your strength apparently improved I thought little of it, although I weakened the strength of the mixture. To find you were seeing and approaching the Way toward the Halls of Mandos--that should not have been." I looked into his eyes, which showed a deep well of compassion. "You are a puzzle to me, Frodo Baggins."

"I have been a puzzle to myself long enough," I said. And I felt Gandalf’s hand tighten on my shoulder.

"I can imagine," the wizard said.

The door opened softly, and an Elf entered with a bowl of fruit-- brambleberries, I noticed; and suddenly the memory of Sam’s mother and her recognition of how I loved such berries filled me with a feeling of the pleasure of remembering along with a portion of sadness that she’d not lived long enough to see how great her son had grown to become. A few were set on a small plate for me, and a spoon placed in my hand. I managed to eat them all, and I set down the spoon grateful to be finished. Elrond again filled the goblet with water and gave it to me to drink, although I found this time I could do little more than sip at it.

Finally Galadriel spoke again. "You need not come into the salon if it overwhelms you. But you do need at times to leave your cabin and to be with others. At such times we will gladly meet you here. And be warned we will be watching you and watching over you, Ringbearer. You deserve to be able to know sheer joy once more ere you take that Way."

Elrond took me back to my room. The brazier was once again lit, and as he helped me disrobe and put on again the nightshirt, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Gildor once more, this time carrying the basin of water and a packet of athelas leaves. As I readied myself for sleep Elrond again set the bowl into its place in the ring over the brazier, breathed on one of the leaves and bruised it, then dropped it gently into the now steaming water as he sang the Invocation over it. He then aided me into the high bed and settled the coverings low over my chest, opened the shirt to examine my shoulder, then had me sit up higher so he could look at the place on the back of my neck which still had the ability to make Sam blanch, and sighed. He place his hand upon it, and sang over it. As he sang, Gandalf opened the door and entered, placed his right hand over Elrond’s, and joined the singing. This time Light did not fill me, but instead it felt as if some of the darkness which had begun seeking to engulf my body and soul was being forced out of me, and relieved I finally lay back and sighed, then closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

White Shores and a Far Green Country

I strengthened day by day; and as I did so, Bilbo smiled more, and let himself sit back and relax more and more. He and I often sat in the smaller chamber off the salon of the windows, sometimes speaking, sometimes dozing together. Then I realized he was once again sleeping most of the time, and I knew that for him the stay would not be long once we arrived at Elvenhome. And that grieved me, for once he chose to leave I would be left alone, the only mortal left amongst the Elves of Eressëa. But this time I did not withdraw, although the temptation was there.

I finally was able to reenter the salon of the windows, and there I would look out in wonder at the sea beneath us and the wake we left behind, and listen to the rejoicing of the company and their songs and poetry.

When one morning Galadriel asked I accompany her onto the deck of the ship at dawn, I agreed, although earlier attempts to go out into the wind had driven me back, for it was deep autumn and the wind was often cold and accompanied by rain. It was raining again now--but of a wonder the rain was gentle and warm; and I found myself straining to see through it, past the swan head of the prow, realizing we were finally approaching our destination. Then the silver rain curtain pulled back--and I saw it at last as I heard the singing of the Elves aboard the ship answered from afar with a deeper, more joyful song that struck deep into the heart of me; and for the first time, it seemed, in an age I could breathe deeply without any hint of pain as that song filled me. I watched in wonder as that far green country came closer, closer still, and our ship slowed and others gathered near me, joyful and full of contained excitement as we came to the quays of the shining city.

With the Lady’s hand on my shoulder I stood on the deck, breathing deeply of the green smell--that had been what Legolas had called it, I remembered, in the description he’d given me while we were in Minas Tirith, of his appreciation for the scent of growing things after the bleak winter we’d spent traveling from Rivendell. Yes, if odors could indeed by pictured with colors, this was indeed a green smell, alive, fulfilling. I closed my eyes to focus on it, to hear the sound of growing things again after so long upon the Sea.

I looked up into the face of the Elven Lady above me, which was shining with joy, and asked, "My Lady, may I ask a question?" She looked down and gave a contained nod of permission. "Why did the Lord Celeborn not travel with us as well?"

She smiled gently. "He will follow when the time is right, Ringbearer. But for him it was more wrenching to leave Middle-earth than it proved for me." Looking at the further question I did not voice, she continued, "For me, mellon nin, this voyage has been a dream I long thought I had no chance of achieving, for I was long ago banned from returning to Aman after following my peoples out of it to enter Middle-earth after the Kin Strife." She looked back at the land before us. "I thought to prove myself, become great in a place where there would be few to rival my exploits and accomplishments, and for my defiance of the Powers I was punished." She gave me a smile that spoke of many emotions. "But then I met my match in discernment in you, small one, and you offered me the Enemy’s treasure. And in so doing, you gave me my one chance to receive pardon."

I shook my head. "I do not understand."

"Do you remember what I told you my choice was?"

"You said that you would diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

Her smile lit the still-shadowed deck around us. "My pride in my own power and strength to bring about my own plans and designs, to use any means possible to gain my own realm and rule it as I willed, earned me my banishment. Only the realization that in grasping at further power I would destroy not only the good I’d achieved but would lose me myself as well, for in doing so I would simply have taken the place of Sauron and continued the line of Morgoth’s successors, gave me the right to return. Do you understand now?"

"But because of me, Lothlorien will fade--is fading now, even."

"Lothlorien, the Dream Flower, it had already become, Iorhael. But it was merely the dream of the Lorien that flowers in truth here in the Undying Lands, the Lorien that cannot fail while Arda remains. I have been able to keep alive a memory of here in the mortal lands, for a time, Frodo Baggins of the Shire; but that time is now ended. Had you failed, far more than Lothlorien would have fallen. Better to give it up willingly than to see all caught in the destruction, for that would have been the end to which accepting It from you would have brought."

"And had I remained in the Shire, I would have died, died sooner rather than later, and to no good purpose, and very like at my own hand, I fear."

"Which would have been the greatest ill you could have done yourself and those who loved you." We were quiet as the ship slowly sidled to the quay, as ropes were thrown and caught and the ship was drawn closer in. "It would have destroyed Sam to have found you that way, you know."

"I know, Lady," I agreed. "That was what kept me from doing it, for I did consider it, and more than once. But I knew that he--or perhaps Rosie or even Elanor--would most likely have been the one to find my body. No matter which one it was, it would have caused him the worst pain of all." I closed my eyes, remembered. "The last time I was so very close to accomplishing it. I’d planned to make it look like an accident--a hot bath, a blow to my head, a slip under water--I thought it would ease their minds to have me gone. But then--" I swallowed, "but then I remembered seeing my parents’ bodies brought in, already swelling.... I couldn’t have let them find me like that." She looked down in pity. Finally I went on, "And I considered hanging myself, too. It would have been what I deserved, I thought, for my failure. I even had the rope, the hithlain rope Sam carried all the way from Lothlorien, that he took from the lines provided with the boats. I went deep into the woods to find a tall enough tree that Saruman’s Men had not chopped down--but I could not get the knots to hold. I could get only one knot at a time to stay tied--as soon as I tied the second knot, the first would come undone. Then I remembered how when Sam pulled on it in the Emyn Muil, the knot came undone just when he thought it would have to be left behind. Then I knew it would never agree to being party to such an act, and--and I begged its forgiveness and returned it. I don’t think Sam ever realized I’d taken it."

"And why did you feel you deserved such a death?"

"I failed, Lady. I failed to protect my cousins or Sam. I failed to leave the Fellowship in time to protect Boromir from his growing obsession with It, and he fell to Its lure. Gandalf fell to protect me. I failed to bring Sméagol back." I stopped, licked my lips, which had gone dry. I whispered, "I failed at the end--It took me, and I failed to destroy It. I let It take me, and when I knew I must at least throw myself into the fire to destroy It, I failed then, too. And I cursed Gollum with death."

She looked on me with compassion, and I turned my gaze toward the city before me. "I know, Lady, that most of this is not true--I know I could not protect my cousins or Sam, that I did not cause Gandalf to fall, that I could not keep It from taking me at the end, there in Orodruin where Its power was strongest. But, at the times when the physical pain was greatest, when my sleep was constantly filled with nightmares and terrors, when I heard Its whispers echoing again in my soul, when I found I could no longer walk into Hobbiton, when it was difficult to rise from a simple bath, when my breath ran short and my heart raced, when I felt that I was being stripped of all dignity, all control over my own life--" I swallowed, took a deep breath. "When such things happened, I found it all too easy to wish I could simply make an end, and swiftly."

"I see," she said softly.

The growing dawn was further brightened as Gandalf joined us, my saddlebags in his hand. I’d grown used to the glow of him, but now he fair shone with glory, a Light which penetrated the dimness of vision which I still experienced to a degree and which had deepened as I’d spoken, burning it away so that the beauty of the city before us appeared even clearer, and I stood in sheer awe. Even when I closed my eyes could I still behold it, white, shining with the glory of simple beauty, making the magnificence of Minas Tirith seem both overworked and stark by comparison. In Lothlorien I’d felt as if simple colors were new and delightful, as if the shapes of trees had been newly revealed to me. Now I saw that the Lady had spoken truly of her land being but an echo of here. I did not think I could of my own will leave the Ship. This place was not for the likes of me....

I felt gross, poorly executed, weak and unworthy, and I pulled back, only to have my retreat stayed by Gandalf’s hand on my other shoulder. I heard Galadriel’s sigh and a determined bark of laughter from Gandalf. "No more of that, Iorhael," he murmured in my ear. "Think of it in terms of the mushrooms of the Marish, if you will--this is a gift long prepared for you, one which is given you freely by those who love you, one given even by Sam for your easing when he’d have far rather kept you close to himself for cherishing. It is a legitimate pleasure. Partake in gladness." And he compelled me to go forward. Only at the gangway did he drop his hand, finally giving me the right to choose. I paused, and the world stopped with me, contemplating me, awaiting my decision. I was aware that if I refused now that somehow this place would cease to exist in the way it was designed to know--my presence in some way fulfilled it. I took a deep breath, a breath of an air I could no longer deny myself, closed my eyes, took the step....

...And I was welcomed. I felt an embrace not of my body, but of my very spirit. And as tears poured down my face from the lingering weakness and the terror of mere joy, I knew the feeling of homecoming I’d missed even in the Shire.

Gandalf was behind me again, his hands on my shoulders, strengthening me, supporting me. And about us were Elves--hundreds of Elves come to meet the Ship or to do other business at the wharves--and there were three more, three more that were more than Elves, come to meet Gandalf. The glow of them dazzled the eyes, but it was now a familiar glow--for Gandalf, for all his old man’s shape, was filled with it. And at last I had it confirmed--Gandalf was indeed a Maia.

They bowed to me, greeted me with honor, and I was filled with the Light again, filled so I could do no more, and I do not think I was quite present. I could not move, nor speak, nor respond. Finally I heard--somehow I heard it, for the words were not strictly spoken--I heard Gandalf explaining, >It is almost more than he can bear. His body is very weak, very near dissolution, in fact. He is, after all, a Mortal, and one who has been far too close under the Shadow. During the voyage came again the anniversary of when he was struck with the Morgul blade, and he almost chose to leave us then, for he saw the Way to the Halls of Mandos and that it is open to him as it is to the Eldar, and he had to be called back through Love. He has not been able to eat properly for his kind for over a year of his people, and he came with us more, I think, to spare those he loved the finding of his body once he’d flown it than to find the healing he is offered here.

>Ah, Olórin, one replied, >we see this is true. A fair house has been prepared for him, high in the City.

>No, Gandalf responded, >he would not be comfortable in such a place. A simple house on the outskirts of the City would be best for him and his kinsman, preferably one near the Gardens.

They looked to one another, and to the great Elves who had come to greet the Ship, and all considered the request, but without spoken words. At the end one of the Elves led us to the right, to the north of the city and about its bounds, till we were brought to a building near one of the gardens, and I was brought inside, although I cannot say whether I walked or was carried. A graceful, padded wooden bench stood in an inner room, and to it I was led. Gandalf assisted me onto it, and someone came to me with a cup of drink, similar to that Elrond gave me in the small cup in the chamber off the Salon of Windows on the Ship, and made sure I drank all of it. Then Gandalf aided me to lie down, and a fair hand was laid over my brow and once again I slept.

Of Healing

I awoke to again find Bilbo standing over me, a cup in his hand, his eyes filled with concern. "Well, at least you fulfilled your promise, Frodo," he commented as he felt my brow.

I was on a different couch than the one on which I’d fallen asleep. This was lower, softer. Across the room now stood the one to which I’d been led. Bilbo followed my gaze, smiled. "It would seem Gandalf had tried to have a proper place prepared for us, but as all wanted to have us in the midst of them and to give us honor, they’d done so high in the city, surrounded by their houses and mansions, a house three stories high." We both shuddered, and he laughed. "Apparently when he learned of the quarters and their situation, Gandalf objected such a house would be most unsuitable for our nature, so they have spent the last several hours bringing such furnishings as Gandalf felt would be appropriate for us here, instead." He looked about, obviously pleased. "A very pleasant situation, Frodo Lad." He drank from the cup he held, then asked, "Would you like something to eat?"

An Elf maiden entered with a low table she set by the couch, then went out and came in again with a bowl of fruit, green vegetables, and a soft cheese and bread. Again she left, returning this time with two pitchers and goblets of fine glass. She brought then a low chair for Bilbo and drew it up to the table for him. Last she came back with a few plates and bowls, a knife, and a finely carved spoon. Bilbo gave me a portion of each item, filled my glass with water, and after a moment where mentally I kept the Standing Silence, we ate without further speech.

A young Elf came after the meal and showed me the room for refreshment and explained how to use the articles it held, and then the hot spring bathing pool. Together Bilbo and I bathed in the pool, he happily exploring its bounds, I just lying in the shallow place along the edge where my head was pillowed by a rise in the stone lip. He got out after a time, then brought me more bread and fruit, a glass of milk, and a cup of the healing drink.

I cannot say how many days I kept to the house with Bilbo, strengthening as food was brought to me, the herbal draughts administered. The windows were unglazed and the eaves broad, shielding out all but the worst of rain. I could scent the green smell of Elvenhome about me, the sweet perfume of flowers which brightened the view from the windows, the tang of herbs, the richness of green grass. I was eating more at last--not much per meal, but at least several small meals a day. I was drinking much water, and the water here was clear and sweet as the richest sweet wine of Dorwinion. I heard fair voices singing in the Gardens by which our house was built, saw the glow of Elven forms in the twilight and at the dawning of the day.

Finally came the day when I ventured forth. I did not go far, that first day. I found a low bench near the front to our house, and sat there, looking about me. Those who frequented the Gardens drew near, but not too near, greeted me and accepted my responses, and at last a young Elf brought me a flowering plant growing in a dish--and I saw it was athelas, but a more beautiful version of that gentle, homely plant which Sam had grown about Bag End and the Hill to strengthen me. I took it with thanks, and carrying it tenderly I brought it into the house and to the window near my couch, and set it there to grow. And when the breeze brushed over the plant, it brought to me the scent of Love, the scent of Home and Caring, and of Sam.

At last I emptied my saddlebags and brought out the little I’d brought with me. One of the shells built by the water worms, made of red sand and beads; the baby cup Bilbo had given my mother at my birth; my first top; a carved bird Sam once gave me; a straw braiding given me by the Lady Éowyn, which she told me was meant for the easing of the heart of sorrow; my Elven cloak from Lorien and its brooch; a ribbon that once fell from the curls of Pearl Took when I thought perhaps one day we would marry; and a book Sam had written for me the first Yule I’d known him. Oh, there were a few other items, from Aragorn, from Legolas, from Gimli, from my cousins, from Brandy Hall, but only a very few. A poem that I’d hidden inside the book Sam had made me, the lament I’d written for Gandalf in Lorien, with the addition Sam had made about the fireworks, and the poem he’d created of the Stone Troll. I wanted that one with me, too. And one thing more--a lock of Elanor’s golden hair tied in a white ribbon, given to me as I left by the Lady Rose. I set by them the Phial of Galadriel, and continued to wear Arwen’s gem.

As always, Bilbo wore the Shire clothing to which he was accustomed, but they seemed to insist I wear robes more similar to that worn here by the Elves. At first they seemed to be taken aback by the fact neither Bilbo nor I wore shoes, and often those who served us would look on our feet with awe and interest. And each day brought us flowers on the doorstep, laid there by quiet hands, and lookings-on from afar by those who came in pilgrimage to glimpse thePeriannath in their remote house.

The house was small by Shire standards, although the rooms were at the same time larger. We shared the same chamber for sleeping--two low couches now, a brazier and chairs, a wardrobe cupboard for each, and a large chest we shared. In the main room were groupings of the padded wooden couches, tables and chairs, and, near the windows, a desk for each of us flanked by shelves of books. The room of refreshing and the stone bathing pool. A kitchen whose amenities we did not really understand how to use, although it proved Bilbo had brought his favorite kettle and teapot and mugs. And a porch with comfortable chairs and benches.

Bilbo had begun to go out briefly each day almost from our arrival. I cannot say how long it was before I began to go beyond the bench nearest the door--cannot even say how long it was ere I went there at all, for that matter. But at last I began to explore as my strength returned, and at last I found the Garden of the White Tree at the heart of the island, and felt I was once more home at last. For here was the Tree from which the White Tree of Gondor was sprung, and as I put my hand against its bark I felt the life of it, the life of it shared with its child so far away in the mortal lands, and I again felt reassured, knowing Aragorn was safe indeed, and King of a growing people. I stayed by the Tree all that day, and through the night I slept by it, and the next day Elrond came to find me, to assure Bilbo I was all right. As he saw me sitting, smiling, leaning back against its trunk, he, too, smiled, and sat with me for a time.

The next evening we were brought into the city for a celebration, long put off, to rejoice in our arrival. Bilbo was delighted, and I sat back and watched, joined from time to time by others who stood by me in comfortable silence. There was dancing, which I’d never seen among the Elves of Rivendell or in Lothlorien, although I must admit when we were in Lothlorien I never went up into the high flets of their halls to seek such out. And in the dancing I saw that among the most graceful was a couple who proved to be the Lord Elrond and his wife Celebrían, and I could see the joy of their reunion after so long a separation, and the love that had blossomed anew between them, and I was glad for them, that their waiting was over at last. In the midst of it all a shining form approached me, one of the Maiar, and I realized that this was Gandalf, although he was much changed. His face was no longer bearded, and he looked at once aged and young as spring, his face full of joy and delight tempered by experiences I could not begin to fathom. He smiled down into my eyes, lifted my face to look into his, and the joy of him filled me once more, although this time not to the point of being overwhelmed.

"Welcome again, Iorhael," he said in his voice that now was young and old at once, rich and joyful. "You strengthen at last, are finding your feet again, your curiosity once more."

I nodded. I reached to embrace him, then commented, "You no longer smell of pipe weed--or at least only of the faintest echo of it."

He laughed, "No, for this form is not truly fit for it, you know. But, then, neither do you, my friend."

"I’m not sure--it seems that although Frodo may have once indulged, the same is not true of Iorhael." He laughed again, held me close, turned around to see the dancing. He watched with delight the dancing of Elrond and Celebrían, and smiled broadly. At last he beckoned to a young elf maiden, a child, I thought, and suggested to her she take me out as her partner.

I’d not danced in years, although I’d loved to do so when younger, before It came to me. But when the music began again it filled me, and I found I could follow the steps, move through the forms, and easily keep pace with my partner. When the dance was through she smiled joyfully at me and thanked me before I had the chance to do so for her. When I came off the floor I found myself by Bilbo’s chair, where he sat with a goblet by him and several Elves with whom he’d been speaking, and he smiled with pleasure. "Ah, dear lad," he said. "It does my heart good to see you able to dance once more. You will be well enough now, I think." Then, as I became alarmed, he continued, "No, not right now, Frodo, but soon enough I must go. I am happy, but already I’ve been far stretched beyond our kind."

And I felt shamed, to know he lingered only for me.

The next day Olórin came to our dwelling, and begged leave to enter. We rejoiced to entertain him. But it appeared that this was not just for reunion, but that he felt I was now ready for my next phase of healing. He began to question me about my experience with the Ring, each moment, each interaction, each time I’d put It on, what I’d experienced, what pressures I’d felt, what grief It had given me.

I cannot say how long this went on--it may have been days, or months for all I could tell. Here it was harder for me to keep track of time, I found, than it had been in Lothlorien. I know that after the first day he did not come alone--he would come accompanied by Elrond, Celebrían, Galadriel, and others from the Island. And each time I tried to blame myself for what had occurred they’d show me that it was not my fault; and when I tried to put responsibility for what happened onto It I’d be shown I could not avoid taking responsibility for my own choices and actions. I was often in tears, and always such would be wiped away and comforted; and at last, at long last, after we’d been through the whole long seventeen years, it seemed we were done.

Then they took me out and about the Island, and I came to love the sound of the sea, the smell and the constantly changing beauty and majesty of it. Olórin himself led me in for my first swim in it. I was amazed--I’d loved to swim as a child, but this was so different from the Brandywine or the Water. This water was alive and filled with a power one could only glimpse hints of in the largest of rivers. I rolled with the waves, felt the movement of currents and tides, came to rejoice in it. And I felt much of the old fears wash away.

Then came a day when I awoke to find I was in pain--the back of my neck felt as though fire burned it, as if red-hot wires were being jabbed into my flesh. Bilbo, rising, looked down on me in consternation, and in hurrying out the door found an Elf and begged him to bring Lord Elrond, at once.

Elrond, Galadriel, Celebrían, and Olórin came together, and together they stood over me as I lay, naked to the waist, face down on my couch, their hands over the place where Shelob had bitten me, and they sang. I cannot remember the words of that song; only the power of it that slowly drove out the pain, slowly drove out the agony and the darkness. When at last they finished, Elrond took me and bathed me, cleansed my hair, set athelas to steep by me--a leaf begged with entreaty from the plant I’d been gifted and which it had graciously given to my respite. After I rested I was asked if I’d known what day this was, and I could tell them, no, I had had no idea. Bilbo agreed, and the next day they took me to the western side of the Island.

I cannot tell anyone exactly what happened there, for my own memories are hidden from me, but I believe that some of the Valar themselves came to me, came to my aid--Estë, Ulmo, perhaps Nienna. But I was cleansed as I’d never been cleansed before, my whole soul examined and set right by the hands of the Powers, my guilt seen and acknowledged, my innocence affirmed, my weakness reproved, my strength rewarded. It was as if a purifying fire had been used to purge my spirit, followed by sweet water to cleanse and refresh. And at last I was laid on a green couch of living grass, surrounded by the green smell, and left to recover. I woke to find Olórin sitting by me, his hand on my brow, his eyes deep and sad, but relieved for my own relief. "There, that’s done, at least," he told me.

"How long have I been here?" I asked.

"Two weeks."

"How is Bilbo?"

"Impatient to see you."

"He wishes to go soon."

After a pause he answered, "Yes. If he does not go soon of his own will, his body will take him perforce. He cannot remain much longer."

I sighed. "Then I must bid him go." And he agreed, and took my hand and held it.

The second night I was home I finally asked him, "When will you leave?"

Bilbo asked me, "You are ready now, dear one?"

"I don’t wish you to go, but I know you must. I can bear it, Bilbo. And I want to be here when Sam comes."

"Then you have accepted the gift?"

I held him gently. "Yes, Bilbo, I have accepted the gift."

Together we walked about the island, ending at the White Tree, and he stood a long time, looking up at it, his hand against its bark. "To know the Dúnedan has this ones descendant growing before his home makes me feel closer to him, closer to Middle-earth and the Shire tonight. I’ve had a good life, and a fulfilling one. I’ve faced my own weaknesses and strengths here, and to know that I helped you grow to be the best Hobbit you could possibly be has made it all worthwhile. Frodo, I am so very proud to have known you." He held out his arms to me, surrounded me with his love, gave me his blessing.

After we returned, I fixed him a cup of tea--that I could do in our kitchen; and he bathed himself, and prepared himself for his rest. Olórin and Elrond and Celebrían arrived as I finished the preparations, and all joined Bilbo in our chamber. He accepted his tea, sipped from it as all gathered to wish him a good journey. He laughed and joked, listened as stories were told of his days in Rivendell, and he took my scarred hand in his, smiled up at me, then closed his eyes. I felt him slip away, followed after. I found myself in the Place, saw him walking toward the Way. He turned suddenly, looked at me, smiled, then turned back, went on, and I stayed, watched him go, then finally turned back.

Olórin was holding my hand, looking into my face as I returned. I smiled sadly. "I just saw him on his way, Gandalf; no more," I sighed. "I promised him I would remain for Sam, if I am allowed." And he held me to him, until I fell asleep in his arms.

A Time of Waiting

I made friends among the Elves now, and often came into the city for celebrations and holy days, to learn their ways, and to learn the way of their city. I was gradually taught how to cook using the type of fire and oven they preferred, which was fueled not with wood but oil, and in time I began to entertain in my own right. When they learned that I had studied their languages and could read and write in them, they would bring me new books, new poetry, new lays to read. They took me aboard their boats and taught me how to steer and raise sail, how to fish and read the waves. A small boat with sail and rudder and centerboard was made for me for my own, large enough, I noted, for myself and another of my kind; and I awaited the day I would perhaps have Sam to sail with me.

The young Elf maiden who had danced with me was named Livwen, the daughter of one who sailed his ship between Eressëa and the rest of Aman, carrying goods and passengers. Livwen was taller than I, but still small enough to sail with me on my small craft as I was learning to manage it, and she would ask me of my life before, of the ways of Middle-earth, of the lands I’d visited, and of the Shire. I told her of the wonder the Brandywine River held for me when I was young, of the fertile fields of the Marish where much of our food was grown, of the flowers that grew on the Hill, of the pleasures of swimming in the Water, of how I first met Gildor Inglorion as we went through the Woody End and of being shown the secrets of Wood Hall by him and his folk. I spoke of the village of Bree and how strange it was to meet Men for the first time. I spoke of learning that our guide through Eriador was the heir of Isildur, and that he was Aragorn son of Arathorn, many times nephew of the Lord Elrond, and of how I came to know and revere him.

I described to her the lonely beauty of Hollin, where only ruins and holly trees attested to the memory of the land of Eregion. I spoke of the majesty of Khazad-dum, and of seeing it with Gimli son of Gloin, whose ancestors had built it long ago, of looking into the Mirrormere and seeing Durin’s Crown there. I told her of the ever-changing song of Nimrodel in the stream that bears her name, and the wonder of seeing Lothlorien for the first time. I spoke of the comfort and beauty of Rivendell and the glory of the surrounding waters and falls that filled it with the song of rushing streams and rills. I told her of falling asleep in the Hall of Fire and not realizing the poem of Eärendil that filled my dreams was being recited by Bilbo till it was almost done, and of Bilbo’s room and the picture of Turin and the Dragon I’d done for Gandalf to gift to Bilbo when he left the Shire, and how I’d patterned Turin on my beloved Uncle for I’d not yet seen any of the race of Men.

I described the desolation of Eriador, and how now the waste places were beginning to fill with folk again, and how the ruined towers and cities were being rebuilt, now that there was again a King over the combined lands of Gondor and Arnor. I described the beauty of Ithilien, the joy of walking there after days of wandering lost elsewhere, of the herbs we found there, of Sam’s stewed rabbit. I spoke of the splendor of the Henneth Annun as the light of the setting Sun turned the water of its falls to a curtain of fire, and later the light of the setting moon laid on it a veil of silver gilt.

I told of waking in wonder on the Fields of Cormallen and learning I’d been cared for by the King himself, and of his crowning before the broken gates of the city of Minas Tirith. Of my sense of wonder the first time I saw the capitol of Gondor shining under the snow-capped peak of Mount Mindolluin. Of seeing flowers again blooming in my own garden, cared for by Sam. Of the joyful wedding when I heard the vows of my best friend and the Hobbit lass he’d loved from childhood, and how they came to live with me and care for me, and of how when little Elanor took her first steps they were for me.

And she said to me, "Oh, if I could only see these lands, and the faces of those you love!"

I laughed. "Oh, you would love my Sam, and little Elanor, and the others that have come by now. I know the first lad is named for me--that they vowed from the start, Sam and Rosie. But he won’t look like me--I hope he is as substantial as his father and as fair as his mother Rosie. But I could show you, in part, at least, what they looked like--if I can bring myself to draw again."

Soon after her father came to my house, bringing papers and parchments, pens, ink, charcoal, different densities of graphite, paints and brushes, chalks of many colors. "My daughter tells me once you drew, Perian Iorhael," he said, "and she wishes that you might have the chance to do so again. I bring you these that you might again find joy in the recreation of the beauty you see and of the beauty you remember." I thanked him for his gift, and looked at all with amazement. With his encouragement I took a smaller paper, and with the graphites and charcoal began to try them out, going from lines and shadings and blendings to curves and arcs. And suddenly I found myself drawing a familiar subject--Sam with a potted plant in his hand, that special smile he had when he saw a green life ready to take root in rich soil. He watched the small study take shape and smiled, and when I’d finished touched the paper reverently.

"This is one you knew well," he commented. I nodded--I felt I’d almost forgotten what Sam looked like until I had charcoal in hand, at which time my hand had simply brought him to life.

"Yes," I said, "my best friend, my dearer than brother, Samwise Gamgee." I took another paper, a larger one, and found myself examining it for several moments, trying to realize what visage or scene was hidden there, waiting to be awakened. My hand moved to the chalks, and I found myself drawing the Hill and Bag End, the hedge, the flowers, the nasturtiums by the doorway, the arch with the honeysuckle that wove its way around the study window, tall spikes of delphiniums and lupine. I drew the round green door and the knob in the center, the elaborate patterns of glass panes that filled the round windows, the chimney pots, the oak atop the hill, the riotous colors of Sam’s wildflowers that he’d planted there for me, the ring of athelas, elanor and niphredil he had planted for my comfort, the window boxes, the bench and the steps up to the stoop, the gate. I drew the lane down, the hints of the orchard around the hillside. Again he watched in fascination as the image appeared and was defined.

"A home within a hill?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Bag End. My home." I set down the blue chalk with which I’d been coloring the sky, wiped my hand on a handkerchief I carried in the sleeve of my robe. And as I looked at it, a wave of homesickness filled me momentarily, remaining long enough for him to recognize. "Bilbo’s father dug it when he sought to marry Belladonna Took. It’s quite the grandest smial in all of Hobbiton, Bywater, and Overhill. They had hoped to fill it with children, but they had but one--Bilbo; although they took care of my father and his sisters at times, and after their parents' deaths Aunt Dora remained with them. After my grandparents died Aunt Dora moved into Hobbiton proper and had a fine smial in her own right, leaving Bilbo to live there alone until he adopted me."

He contemplated it for many minutes. "It seems fitting somehow, Iorhael," he commented. "So, you were Iorhael of Bag End."

I shook my head. "No, there I was named in Westron--Frodo Baggins, Master of Bag End for nineteen years."

"There are many flowers."

"Sam and his father planted most of them. They were our gardeners, Bilbo’s and mine. Now Sam is Master of Bag End. I adopted him as my heir as Bilbo adopted me."

"So neither of you married?"

I could not stop the regret from filling my voice. "No, neither of us married. We had--had a different commitment."

"Then you never knew love?"

"I did, once. But it came to naught. One who was jealous successfully stopped the match between myself and Pearl. Pearl was the daughter of my mother’s cousin, and it was our mothers’ hope that perhaps one day we should marry, and I know it was once my hope as well."

"You never found another after?"

"No. I received, instead, a legacy that demanded all my attention for far too long. Afterwards, there was nothing left to offer any other."

"Nothing of what, Iorhael?"

"Nothing left of myself."

I was nervous before Livwen’s arrival at my house, nervous that I should somehow do something wrong, forget some courtesy, or that she would find it too small and spare. But she was plainly pleased with the house and the setting and the furnishings, and appeared to find my company pleasing. An Elven craftsman had made for me an easel, and it was placed near one of the windows, and on it hung a portrait I was painting of Aragorn as King, seated in judgment. I’d baked a batch of seed cakes, had made a jam of berries that resembled currants, fixed a tea of herbs I’d grown in my own small garden. There was also an Elven bread that was delivered to me daily, and cheese and milk and juices and fresh vegetables, and I’d even managed to put together a pot of stewed mushrooms that an amused Lord Elrond had helped me identify as edible. I had found that it was, after all, possible to prepare a Hobbit tea for an Elven guest. We ate our tea in the front room, and it felt good to once again entertain Hobbit-style. I even wore my Shire clothing, which she seemed to approve of.

After we ate she looked at the drawings and paintings I’d done, starting with the picture of Aragorn enthroned that hung on the easel. "He is a Man?"

"Yes, although he has some Elven blood, for the founder of his House was Elros, brother to the Lord Elrond." She seemed more impressed than when I’d merely spoken of him as Lord Elrond’s ever-so-great nephew.

"Then he, too, is descended from the ladies Lúthien Tinúviel and Idril," she said in awe.

I nodded. "And he is married to the Lady Arwen Undomiel, the daughter of the Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían, granddaughter to the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel." And suddenly her eyes filled with even more wonder.

"He must be full worthy for the Lord Elrond to have given his permission to such a marriage," she said quietly.

I nodded. "Oh, he is, he fully is that. The blood of Númenor is strong in him, and he is one who inspires hope and trust. The name Lord Elrond gave him to bear when he was a child was Estel." And she smiled with delight.

She looked at the other pictures I’d drawn--Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Freddy Bolger as they announced the results of their conspiracy; Sam leading the pony Bill; Pippin’s face the moment after he’d dropped the stone down the well in Moria, his face half in shadow, his expression waiting for the wrath of Gandalf to fall; Aragorn as we’d first seen him in Bree, sitting, his face shaded by his hood, his eyes lit only by his pipe; Merry, apple in hand; Aragorn as he’d sung the Lay of Lúthien for us; Bilbo as he’d stood to give his speech at the Party; Gandalf with his arms full of fireworks....

"But this one is familiar to me," she said. "Yet I cannot recognize it."

"It is Olórin as he was in Middle-earth, as Gandalf the Grey," I said, hearing the fondness in my own voice.

She was shocked. "Olórin? But he looks as a Man!"

"It was the shape the Maiar who became the Istari were made to take on, that they not overawe those they sought to counsel and convince. You must ask him to give a display of fireworks for us, for this was the one thing for which he was most renowned in my own land of the Shire."

And she looked at the portraits I’d done of Legolas and Gimli and Boromir; Elrond at the High Table of Rivendell; and Arwen in the Hall of Fire with Aragorn standing beside her dressed as an Elven prince.

Then there were so many others, and so many of them Sam and Merry--as children and lads, Sam with his pipe in the Ivy Bush, Sam with Tom Cotton in the Green Dragon, Sam with Rosie dancing at his coming-of-age party, Sam and Rosie on their wedding day, Merry as a little one, a ball almost as large as himself slipping away from his grasp, Merry as a small lad lying prone in the shallows of the Brandywine pretending to swim, Merry and Pippin reading together, Sam sprawled on the sofa in my study, a book in one hand, pipe in the other, watching me as much as reading, Sam and Merry together kneeling over the herb garden, Sam cradling Elanor, Sam and Rosie together, Elanor held between them. There were Sam with a vase of flowers, Sam pruning the roses, Sam planting athelas beneath my window, Sam sitting, looking out at the Shire on the way to the Havens, trying to hide his tears from me, Sam and Aragorn together in Rohan while the Lord Elrond took leave of his daughter.

At that moment there was a knock at the door, a familiar rap such as I’d not heard for many years, and I hurried to it, opened to find--Gandalf, Gandalf as I’d not seen since we were aboard the Grey Ship.

He laughed. "I did receive an invitation to a typical Shire tea, did I not, Frodo Baggins?" he asked. "I am not sure Olórin the Maia would know precisely what such an event would entail, while Gandalf most certainly would!" And I felt his embrace surround me, pressed my face against a familiar robe, smelled familiar odors of horse, pipeweed, fireworks, growing life, secret places brought to light. "And I see that I do face Frodo today, and not Iorhael." I nodded. Livwen rose from where she was seated at the desk and greeted him, appearing surprised at the guise the Maia had taken.

"I greet you, Olórin. Iorhael had told me that this was how you appeared when you served in Middle-earth, but I did not expect to see you thus."

He laughed. "For almost half an Age of Middle-earth I lived in this form, my Lady," he answered. "It was not a bad guise, and is one, as you can see, that became beloved of those most deserving of honor there and here." He knelt down, looked into my face. "You are missing your own youth, Frodo?" Again I nodded, and he drew me close again, then rose and came to look at the picture on the easel, and his face shone with memory. He took a deep breath. "Yes, he fulfilled his destiny, and has proved a great King. Young Estel of Imladris, born Aragorn son of Arathorn, the Dúnedan, now the King Elessar Telcontar, High King of the West, of the combined kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor." He looked down on me. "Your talent has not failed you. Now, did you make the famous Baggins seed cakes?" I laughed and led him to the table. He smiled to see several seed cakes left, then lifted the lid on the tureen of mushrooms, and laughed. "I see your Hobbit appetites are at last being indulged. Now, if I could somehow conjure up Farmer Maggot and his dogs!"

I laughed with him. "But I no longer fear them, Gandalf; and at my last visit I was warmly welcomed and made comfortable--and offered some of his so-famous mushrooms again by his good wife." His laughter filled the room.

As he ate Livwen brought over the pictures I’d done, and together they looked at them.

Minas Tirith beneath the mountain, the Golden Hall of Meduseld in Edoras, the far-off ruins of Osgiliath, the broken gate of Minas Tirith as I saw it on the day of Aragorn’s coronation, Aragorn receiving the Winged Crown from Gandalf the White, Aragorn greeting the Lady Arwen Undomiel to Minas Tirith. As they looked at each one, he named it and explained its story briefly. She was looking increasingly impressed.

Bilbo drowsing in Rivendell, Sam and the Lady Galadriel and her Mirror in Lothlorien, Gimli kneeling by Balin’s tomb, Legolas with Haldir on the flet, Boromir with Merry and Pippin on the Pass of Caradhras, Gandalf watching over a sleeping Sam in Cormallen, the Sons of Elrond and their sister in the feasting hall in Minas Tirith....

Brandy Hall in the light of morning, the Brandywine River with children on its banks, our smial in Whitfurrow, my beautiful mum, my laughing dad, my Aunt Esmie holding Merry as an infant, my Uncle Rory looking stern, my Uncle Saradoc with my nightshirt at Bag End, a single portrait of Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin seated side by side at Bag End looking stunned, Pearl Took dancing, Pervinca and Pimpernel Took with a bowl of jelly between them, the Great Smials, the market at Hobbiton, the stream where Sam and I found water worms, and the picture I’d done of Bag End.

With that one he paused, looked at it carefully, sighed.

"Bag End," he said. "Bag End under the capable hands of Samwise Gamgee." He looked up at the top of the Hill. "I don’t remember that planting, Iorhael."

"It was after our return. He sent to the Lord Elrond, apparently, asking for seeds for athelas, niphredil, and elanor, and planted them in a circle around where I used to sit or lie some times."

"For your protection," he mused. I nodded.

Livwen looked at me curiously. "You needed protection?" she asked.

Gandalf nodded, his face very gentle with the memories. "Yes, my Lady, he needed protection. He was fading, fading rapidly; and Sam sought to aid him to hold on."

"But you are not fading now."

I took a deep breath. "No, I am no longer fading, not now. I will one day, when the proper end of my time comes; but at least I am not fading as I was."

Gandalf smiled at me, turned to my other guest. "Even here it has been-- difficult--at times, to keep our honored guest with us, Livwen. He is a mortal, and he struggled with deep hurt for too long ere he agreed to leave Middle-earth." He backed up to the picture of Pearl Took. "What happened between you and Pearl, Frodo? There was a time, was there not, when the two of you thought to marry?"

"Lobelia."

He laughed. "Ah, Lobelia! Should have suspected the infamous Sackville- Bagginses in that situation, I suppose. How did you learn of it?"

"Lobelia sent me a letter before she died, asking my pardon."

He looked amazed. "Your cousin Lobelia, asking pardon? The Age had changed, but I’d have never dreamed of such a thing to happen."

"She was much changed after her treatment by Sharkey’s Big Men. Her stay in the Lockups was quite a revelation to her of just what the attitudes she, Otho, and Lotho entertained can lead to. The one, true good to come of that time." He contemplated my solemnity, lifted my face to his to search my eyes, then laid his hand atop my head.

I sighed and continued, "I’d hoped perhaps if I just sent him away Saruman could find himself again, Olórin. I cannot understand how a Maia could bear to embrace evil. But when he betrayed Gríma that last time, Wormtongue just snapped--just snapped. It was horrible!"

"That you should have seen that, Frodo--I am so sorry. But do not think that any is ever fully capable of denying the lure of evil and power over others, particularly when isolated by distance and circumstance from our brethren. The voice of the Enemy can be heard in isolation and despair, as you know too well, mellon nin."

He looked again through the last batch. "This one is one of your cousins, Merry’s father? I don’t recognize the situation."

"It was just after I chose, Gandalf. Saradoc was now the Master. He and Esmeralda wrote to ask if they might dine with me, for they wished to learn more of what it was that Merry and Pippin had been through. It was so very difficult for them to discuss it. It was difficult for all of us to discuss it--the darkest parts of our experiences, that is." He nodded his understanding. "Then Pippin showed up one morning. He’d tried once more to go home to the Smials, and had one of his nightmares, the one in which he cannot find Merry and Faramir, when he rushes through shadowy cities and up stairs and through the twists of Fangorn in search of them, calling out in terror for what may be happening to them. He called out in his sleep as he so often did--I understand from the Thain he was screaming their names, in fact.

"His father came in and yelled at him before he was properly awake, and Pippin almost drew Troll’s Bane on him. Paladin was berating him, accusing him of cowardice and childishness, and finally Pippin just stood up, threw on his clothing, wrapped his Lorien cloak about him, took Troll’s Bane and his pony, and left Tookland. He showed up on the doorstep at Bag End some time before dawn, and I had awakened early with one of my own nightmares and was just going in search of tea when I heard him pound on the door. Not wishing to allow anyone to disturb Sam and Rosie, I went to see who it was. He was shaking still with shame and fury, and it was all I could do to get him calmed to tell me the story. I managed to stir up the parlor fire and we sat there talking for about an hour, I’d judge. Finally I suggested we go to the kitchen. As he was still shaking I decided to give him some of Sam’s special tea." He looked at me with a smile of surprise. "He kept a supply of it, and it seemed to be as effective after it cooled as when it was fresh, and I thought Pippin needed something to ease him as it eased me. But Sam heard us as we went back to the kitchen and came out to see what was going on. I remember asking him if there was anything in the tea likely to hurt Pippin, and he said he didn’t think so, so I heated some and gave him a mug, then sent him off to Crickhollow and arranged for Paladin and Eglantine to join the planned dinner party."

I took a deep breath, remembering the day of the dinner. "The Tooks arrived first, and Uncle Paladin was being difficult, and Aunt Eglantine was being particularly vague and unwilling to rein him in. I was very ill, more ill, I think, than I realized. Sam took me over, made me sit down before the fire with a rug over my knees, and was watching over me like a watch dragon, ready to breathe fire on them if they got any more out of line as he saw it." The Maia gave a snort of laughter at the image. "Then finally Aunt Esmie and Uncle Saradoc arrived, and found themselves in an atmosphere they weren’t certain how to handle.

"I had never discussed what we--did--with anyone in the Shire unless I couldn’t avoid it. I told them so, and told them why, that it was so painful trying to relive it, but that I’d make an exception in this case. And then I proceeded to shock them. After making mention of orcs and trolls and beatings, indicating their sons had been through more horrible situations than they could imagine, I then sweetly suggested we go into the dining room for the formal meal. And I had purposely included Sam, Rosie, little Elanor, and Sam’s sister Marigold, who’d helped prepare for the meal, in the formal seating. Thought they’d better become accustomed to the fact that Sam was not just a servant in Bag End, that he held authority in his own right." He nodded, and Livwen looked at me with gentle wonder.

"And I told them, then read to them from the Red Book. I’d written it all out, Gandalf, all of it as I remembered it, as Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn would tell me, what Merry and Pippin and Sam remembered, what little Captain Faramir and the Lady Éowyn and King Éomer could say. I’ll never forget how pale the two of them became as they heard what Pippin had been through and done. And when I read to them about Pippin falling beneath the troll he stabbed, saving Beregond of Gondor, I looked up and that was how they looked right then."

Together we all looked at the picture of the Thain and his Lady, the shock on their faces.

"Then Sa