Full Circle
Nov. 14th, 2010 07:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: Full Circle
Challenge: Vice and Virtue: Apathy and Hope
Rating: PG
Pairing: None (characters: Frodo, Sam, Rose, Elanor)
Word Count: 1650
Summary: Hope arrives in unexpected moments. Written for a Waymeet challenge.
Frodo had not slept all the way through a single night since he had set off from the Shire with Sam and Pippin on that long ago September evening. Now he was back home, the quest was over, and the Shire more or less restored. Still, sleeping through the night was one of the many pieces of his old self that had been lost forever. He was aware not only of every sound, but also subtle movement like the flickering of a curtain or the passing of a shadow under moonlight. Sometimes it was neither sound nor movement that startled him awake, but an inner compulsion. Whatever the case, he would stare into the darkness, his heart thudding in his ears like the sound orcish war drums and it would take him several minutes to realize that he was safe in his bedroom in Bag End. That night-time part of him would never truly believe that it was over. That shadow part believed he was still lost, stumbling desperately across the baked rocks of Mordor.
What woke him this time was wind whipping the rain against the windows. Once upon a time he had enjoyed that sound, but that was in he days before the quest, when he had only imagined the wonders and terrors beyond the border of the Shire. Those rainy nights had been perfect for tales in Bilbo’s soft voice, all about rain and trolls and giant spiders and battles and eagles. Then there had been the chilly rain that had fallen on Frodo beyond the Shire. He had not seen live trolls, but he had endured battles and the sting of a giant spider and been saved by eagles. Unlike Bilbo, he felt no joy in relating those adventures, even in front of the hearth in Bag End.
He was determined that one day he would enjoy the rain and tales again.
Most nights Frodo enjoyed the peace that came with night. Sam and Rose slept in a room down the hall, and night meant that he was alone at last. He did not need go through the motions of living. He did not need to pretend that yes, he was feeling just a little better today, thank you. He was skilled at pretending. He had been doing so for nearly two years. He knew what to say and what to do to make it look like he was a part of things. He laughed the loudest at jests, drank ale with gusto, slapped backs, and charmed the ladies of Hobbiton. Many hobbits had declared that Frodo was looking quite himself again. But others, those closer to his heart, saw how his smile faded when he thought nobody was watching, how his shoulders slumped, how he stared forward and saw nothing.
Rose, huge with child, was particularly worried. One night as she and Sam lay in bed, bathed in moonlight, safe in one another‘s arms, she said, “Dearest, it’s Mr. Frodo. I‘m worried about him. He‘s still not right.”
“I know,” Sam said. “I’m worried, too. But he’ll get better. He is getting better. He just needs more time.” His eyes reflected desperate want, though, and Rose was not fooled.
“He’s but a ghost,” Rose said, touching Sam’s face.
“Don’t you be saying that,” Sam said, clutching Rose‘s hand. “He’s gone through too much to be a ghost.”
Sam and Rose did not know it, but Frodo could hear them. His senses had remained sharp even after the destruction of the Ring. He leaned his brow against his bedroom door, weary of it all.
The next day he cooked a delicious meal of roasted hen and herbed potatoes, Sam‘s favorite meal. Rose was delighted for a break from the kitchen. Frodo drank wine until the roses bloomed again in his cheeks. He laughed and jested until his chest ached from it. He declared that he had not laughed so much and so long in months. By the end of the evening, he believed that Rose no longer saw a ghost.
He cleaned the kitchen and made sure to hum as he did so.
Only when he retired to his own room and closed the door, did his shoulders slump. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring forward for an untold amount of time. That was the key to making it through every day, he decided. If he could but find one glimmer of joy in any single day, he could make it. If he could not find that one bit of joy in small matters, then it was not clear why he had been brought back. Gandalf and Aragorn had worked so hard to bring him back, and it was a pity that their effort had been wasted, a pity that Sam’s effort in doing everything he could, even sacrificing his own health, had come to naught, had come to him still being a ghost.
I will not burden them. I will not be a ghost.
It was spring and Sam’s babe would be coming any day. Robins pecked worms out of damp earth. Buds greened on the trees. The two-year anniversary of the destruction of the Ring loomed. Two years had passed, and each year looped in a full circle, each year added more buffer but no relief.
A sharp knock on his door startled him.
“Mr. Frodo? Will you be needing anything?”
“No, Sam. No thank you.”
Sam hesitated. “Goodnight then,” he said. Frodo often missed Sam’s arms around him, shielding him from the cold and the terrors. No need to be sheltered now but he still longed for touch and soothing words, to not feel the lonely night so keenly.
Frodo settled in bed and wrapped his fingers around the white gem that Arwen had gifted him. His breath came a little easier. Hope came in thoughts about the sea. The sea breeze was salty and filled with fresh vibrancy. The stars glittered fiercely over the waves, and they would guide him to anywhere, to forever, far from the darkness.
Rosie’s pains started that dawn. Frodo only knew because Sam hovered nervously in his bedroom doorway, seeing if he was awake, before sending for the midwife. During the worst of the pains, Frodo left for a long walk, giving the couple the privacy that they needed. While he wandered, he sent forth his most loving thoughts toward Sam and sent all the life that he had inside himself to encase Rosie and the new baby in health and light. He prayed that if there was a chance that Rosie or the babe would not survive that he would offer himself up instead. What a waste, he thought, if he was allowed to go on living if one as beloved as Rosie or the babe just starting a new life was taken. No, he thought, touching the gem.
He offered himself with all his heart.
When he returned to Bag End late that evening a baby daughter had been born, as lovely as an Elvish bloom, and they named her Elanor. Rosie was healthy but tired, and Elanor had a hearty cry. Frodo knew then that his offer had been accepted.
“She’s lovely, Rose,” Frodo said, and he smiled without pain for the first time in a long time.
“Would you hold her?” Rose asked.
“Me? Oh, but what about Sam?”
“It’s okay, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, his eyes shining. “I’ve already had my chance. Hold her, just hold her.”
Frodo took the babe in his arms, fearing that his black thoughts would poison the girl. But the little girl was completely serene. She pursed her rosy lips together and made odd smacking sounds. Her hair was golden fuzzy down and there was the fragrance of fresh baby on the blankets. She was warm and so perfect.
Frodo held her and the gem warmed his chest.
“Ah, dear Elanor, you were born on a lucky day.”
“That she was,” Sam said.
The babe’s eyes opened then, a brilliant blue, and she looked up at Frodo.
Things came full circle.
There was no real beginning and no real end, just love and life and death and the rise and fall of evil, and in the midst of it all, beautiful babes were born and flowers bloomed, unplucked and untarnished.
“She will be the most wise of the wise,” Frodo said to Sam. “You have a special one.”
“That we know,” Rose said with tears in her eyes.
Sam laughed. “What do you suppose those great men in Minas Tirith would say to that? And Arwen and Galadriel, the rest of the Elves…” His voice trailed off with wistfulness. Frodo wondered if Sam had more adventures left in him and thought maybe he did, although not in the near future.
Frodo smiled. “I know that Aragorn would agree that this is the most beautiful lass to grace Middle-earth.”
He kissed Elanor’s brow and handed her back to her mother. He left the room.
Sam started to followed him.
“No, stay,” Frodo said, unable to keep the catch from his voice.
“What ails you, Mr. Frodo?”
“She is a beautiful babe,” Frodo said. “I’m all right, Sam. I needed to hold her. Thank you.”
Sam gave him a quizzical look. “Any time you want to hold her…”
“I’ve made a decision,” Frodo said.
“What sort of a decision?”
Frodo fondled the gem around his neck. “To live.”
He did not yet tell Sam, but he was not thinking about Bag End and his comfortable life in the Shire surrounded by friends. Instead his thoughts turned to sea breezes and a ship that would take him to a far green land where he might dream for days on end and no longer need go through the motions, where ghosts were expected and welcome.
END
Challenge: Vice and Virtue: Apathy and Hope
Rating: PG
Pairing: None (characters: Frodo, Sam, Rose, Elanor)
Word Count: 1650
Summary: Hope arrives in unexpected moments. Written for a Waymeet challenge.
Frodo had not slept all the way through a single night since he had set off from the Shire with Sam and Pippin on that long ago September evening. Now he was back home, the quest was over, and the Shire more or less restored. Still, sleeping through the night was one of the many pieces of his old self that had been lost forever. He was aware not only of every sound, but also subtle movement like the flickering of a curtain or the passing of a shadow under moonlight. Sometimes it was neither sound nor movement that startled him awake, but an inner compulsion. Whatever the case, he would stare into the darkness, his heart thudding in his ears like the sound orcish war drums and it would take him several minutes to realize that he was safe in his bedroom in Bag End. That night-time part of him would never truly believe that it was over. That shadow part believed he was still lost, stumbling desperately across the baked rocks of Mordor.
What woke him this time was wind whipping the rain against the windows. Once upon a time he had enjoyed that sound, but that was in he days before the quest, when he had only imagined the wonders and terrors beyond the border of the Shire. Those rainy nights had been perfect for tales in Bilbo’s soft voice, all about rain and trolls and giant spiders and battles and eagles. Then there had been the chilly rain that had fallen on Frodo beyond the Shire. He had not seen live trolls, but he had endured battles and the sting of a giant spider and been saved by eagles. Unlike Bilbo, he felt no joy in relating those adventures, even in front of the hearth in Bag End.
He was determined that one day he would enjoy the rain and tales again.
Most nights Frodo enjoyed the peace that came with night. Sam and Rose slept in a room down the hall, and night meant that he was alone at last. He did not need go through the motions of living. He did not need to pretend that yes, he was feeling just a little better today, thank you. He was skilled at pretending. He had been doing so for nearly two years. He knew what to say and what to do to make it look like he was a part of things. He laughed the loudest at jests, drank ale with gusto, slapped backs, and charmed the ladies of Hobbiton. Many hobbits had declared that Frodo was looking quite himself again. But others, those closer to his heart, saw how his smile faded when he thought nobody was watching, how his shoulders slumped, how he stared forward and saw nothing.
Rose, huge with child, was particularly worried. One night as she and Sam lay in bed, bathed in moonlight, safe in one another‘s arms, she said, “Dearest, it’s Mr. Frodo. I‘m worried about him. He‘s still not right.”
“I know,” Sam said. “I’m worried, too. But he’ll get better. He is getting better. He just needs more time.” His eyes reflected desperate want, though, and Rose was not fooled.
“He’s but a ghost,” Rose said, touching Sam’s face.
“Don’t you be saying that,” Sam said, clutching Rose‘s hand. “He’s gone through too much to be a ghost.”
Sam and Rose did not know it, but Frodo could hear them. His senses had remained sharp even after the destruction of the Ring. He leaned his brow against his bedroom door, weary of it all.
The next day he cooked a delicious meal of roasted hen and herbed potatoes, Sam‘s favorite meal. Rose was delighted for a break from the kitchen. Frodo drank wine until the roses bloomed again in his cheeks. He laughed and jested until his chest ached from it. He declared that he had not laughed so much and so long in months. By the end of the evening, he believed that Rose no longer saw a ghost.
He cleaned the kitchen and made sure to hum as he did so.
Only when he retired to his own room and closed the door, did his shoulders slump. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring forward for an untold amount of time. That was the key to making it through every day, he decided. If he could but find one glimmer of joy in any single day, he could make it. If he could not find that one bit of joy in small matters, then it was not clear why he had been brought back. Gandalf and Aragorn had worked so hard to bring him back, and it was a pity that their effort had been wasted, a pity that Sam’s effort in doing everything he could, even sacrificing his own health, had come to naught, had come to him still being a ghost.
I will not burden them. I will not be a ghost.
It was spring and Sam’s babe would be coming any day. Robins pecked worms out of damp earth. Buds greened on the trees. The two-year anniversary of the destruction of the Ring loomed. Two years had passed, and each year looped in a full circle, each year added more buffer but no relief.
A sharp knock on his door startled him.
“Mr. Frodo? Will you be needing anything?”
“No, Sam. No thank you.”
Sam hesitated. “Goodnight then,” he said. Frodo often missed Sam’s arms around him, shielding him from the cold and the terrors. No need to be sheltered now but he still longed for touch and soothing words, to not feel the lonely night so keenly.
Frodo settled in bed and wrapped his fingers around the white gem that Arwen had gifted him. His breath came a little easier. Hope came in thoughts about the sea. The sea breeze was salty and filled with fresh vibrancy. The stars glittered fiercely over the waves, and they would guide him to anywhere, to forever, far from the darkness.
Rosie’s pains started that dawn. Frodo only knew because Sam hovered nervously in his bedroom doorway, seeing if he was awake, before sending for the midwife. During the worst of the pains, Frodo left for a long walk, giving the couple the privacy that they needed. While he wandered, he sent forth his most loving thoughts toward Sam and sent all the life that he had inside himself to encase Rosie and the new baby in health and light. He prayed that if there was a chance that Rosie or the babe would not survive that he would offer himself up instead. What a waste, he thought, if he was allowed to go on living if one as beloved as Rosie or the babe just starting a new life was taken. No, he thought, touching the gem.
He offered himself with all his heart.
When he returned to Bag End late that evening a baby daughter had been born, as lovely as an Elvish bloom, and they named her Elanor. Rosie was healthy but tired, and Elanor had a hearty cry. Frodo knew then that his offer had been accepted.
“She’s lovely, Rose,” Frodo said, and he smiled without pain for the first time in a long time.
“Would you hold her?” Rose asked.
“Me? Oh, but what about Sam?”
“It’s okay, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, his eyes shining. “I’ve already had my chance. Hold her, just hold her.”
Frodo took the babe in his arms, fearing that his black thoughts would poison the girl. But the little girl was completely serene. She pursed her rosy lips together and made odd smacking sounds. Her hair was golden fuzzy down and there was the fragrance of fresh baby on the blankets. She was warm and so perfect.
Frodo held her and the gem warmed his chest.
“Ah, dear Elanor, you were born on a lucky day.”
“That she was,” Sam said.
The babe’s eyes opened then, a brilliant blue, and she looked up at Frodo.
Things came full circle.
There was no real beginning and no real end, just love and life and death and the rise and fall of evil, and in the midst of it all, beautiful babes were born and flowers bloomed, unplucked and untarnished.
“She will be the most wise of the wise,” Frodo said to Sam. “You have a special one.”
“That we know,” Rose said with tears in her eyes.
Sam laughed. “What do you suppose those great men in Minas Tirith would say to that? And Arwen and Galadriel, the rest of the Elves…” His voice trailed off with wistfulness. Frodo wondered if Sam had more adventures left in him and thought maybe he did, although not in the near future.
Frodo smiled. “I know that Aragorn would agree that this is the most beautiful lass to grace Middle-earth.”
He kissed Elanor’s brow and handed her back to her mother. He left the room.
Sam started to followed him.
“No, stay,” Frodo said, unable to keep the catch from his voice.
“What ails you, Mr. Frodo?”
“She is a beautiful babe,” Frodo said. “I’m all right, Sam. I needed to hold her. Thank you.”
Sam gave him a quizzical look. “Any time you want to hold her…”
“I’ve made a decision,” Frodo said.
“What sort of a decision?”
Frodo fondled the gem around his neck. “To live.”
He did not yet tell Sam, but he was not thinking about Bag End and his comfortable life in the Shire surrounded by friends. Instead his thoughts turned to sea breezes and a ship that would take him to a far green land where he might dream for days on end and no longer need go through the motions, where ghosts were expected and welcome.
END
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Date: 2010-11-15 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 03:10 am (UTC)