After It All

***

The breeze blew in from the Sea, as it always did here. Frodo had grown accustomed to it ages ago, but for some reason, he looked up. There was something different about it, this time. There was a sea-tang, true, but also a scent of…of Home, of the Shire. He frowned slightly, puzzled.

There was someone there. Someone was watching him, he felt sure. But who? He didn’t see anyone. The elves of this island were familiar to him now, and though they could come on him at unawares, he never mistook them for strangers.

"Hello?" he said quietly, wondering if anyone would hear.

And then he saw something, a barely perceptible shimmer. There was something at the top of the hill, and was it looking down at him? His brow furrowed, as he looked at this new sight. He had never seen anything like it before.

"Who are you?" he asked, not really expecting a reply.

He was answered by nervous laughter, though so faint it sounded as if it were coming from inside the earth. He stood up, and took a cautious step closer. Not knowing what else to do, he introduced himself. "I’m Frodo," he said simply.

A ripple, or wave, passed through the shimmering object, and he saw that it had the form of a person...a woman. It was transparent, so that he could see the trees behind her clearly.

"I know," she answered, in a voice remote but clear, and…amused? "I….came here to see you."

"But who are you?" he asked again.

"You don’t know me," she answered sadly, "but you may call me Firiel."

"Well, Firiel, why did you come to see me?" he asked, and wondered how he was able to have such a normal conversation with such a strange being.

She moved down the hill, coming closer to him. He noted that she didn’t walk or even glide, but seemed to be carried by the wind. She paused in front of him, and he could now see her face. She seemed deathly pale, and her blue eyes were sad, or rather wistful. She looked at him steadily, even intently, her hair hanging about her face limply.

"I have read about you," she said, in that remote voice. Her mouth quirked a bit as she spoke. "Your story…meant a lot to me."

Frodo began to feel a bit uncomfortable. What an odd thing for her to say! But he did not move away.

"I came," she continued, "because I wanted to see if you were alright, in the end. I wanted to know if you found your peace."

He returned her steady gaze. "Yes, I have," he said. "I have learned and forgotten many things here, and now I am even as you see me."

"That is well, then!" she smiled. "I had hoped it was so, but I had to see you with my eyes to be sure."

"With your own eyes?" Frodo asked, puzzled. "Are you really here, then?"

"Yes and no," she said, smiling again. "I have not been like this for long, so I do not know if I can call this myself. But I am not anywhere, if I am not here."

"You are not an elf, and your name is strange for a hobbit," Frodo continued. He was not sure why, but she did not remind him of the people of the Valar who sometimes visited the Island unseen. "What are you, then?"

"I am a daughter of Men, or at least I was," Firiel said. "I am bereft of my body, having died recently, so this is all that is left of me. I was surprised you could even see me."

"You are a ghost, then?" Frodo answered, his spine tingling at the thought.

"No, no, I will not haunt you!" she said earnestly. "I cannot linger here, nor anywhere. I am called away, and I cannot refuse the summons. Even as we speak, my heart yearns to answer, and speed away to…my other home." She paused, and looked over his shoulder to the northwest. "But even so, I had to tarry here a moment, to see that all was well with you. I could not have borne not knowing."

"Well, rest in peace, for all is well with me!" Frodo laughed. "But where is your home, your old home, I mean?" Despite himself, he was curious about this girl who seemed to know his story. Where did she hear it, and why was it so important to her?

"Lebennin, in Gondor," she answered, her voice sounding more musical, more present. She glanced back over her shoulder, intuitively knowing that there, over the Sea, lay her old home. "My family had a farm. We tended apple and cherry trees, as well as sheep. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to Lebennin?" she asked, a quirk of a smile ghosting her mouth.

"No, I’m afraid not," Frodo replied, forgetting for a moment that his surreal guest was, well, dead. "I have heard of it, though. But tell me, how did you hear of me?"

"When I was a child, I heard an old lay about the great War of the Ring, and how a halfling and his servant had braved the Nameless One’s land to save us all. It is popular at the New Year, perhaps because it speaks of new beginnings, and the hope of spring."

"And because of that, you came here?" He was incredulous, and strangely thankful that he had not had this happen to him before. What stories did they tell in Gondor?

"Oh, no, of course not!" She laughed again, and the breeze caught her hair. "The Lay ends with the end of the War, of course, and all of the heroes return home in triumph. The halflings went to their home in the Shire, far to the north, in Arnor," she recited. Her brow creased, and the smile fell. "But, well, clearly there was more to the story. Most stories go on, do they not, after the happy endings?"

"As far as I know, no story ever ends," he said simply, gravely.

She nodded. "So, naturally, I was curious and excited when I learned that the Stewards keep in Minas Tirith a record of your story told in your own words."

Frodo gave a start at this. "They do?"  That could only mean Bilbo's Red Book, but how it came to be in Gondor was a mystery to him. 

She nodded again, "Oh yes! And it was ever so exciting to read it, but at the end…" She frowned. "It just said you left. No one ever said what happened to you. The elves may know what lies over the Sea, but if they tell anyone, I have not heard."

"Some stories cannot be told, because the listener will not understand," Frodo said gently. "The elves do not mean to keep secrets, but tell me truly, what would you say about this?" His arm swept the small glade where they stood. To be honest, what was so remarkable about it? While breathtakingly beautiful, it was, after all, merely a forest. Suddenly, she realized that the very air was imbued with some quality she could not put her finger on. It was as if the land itself were breathing, resonating a living personality. She had never met an elf, but this was more elvish than anything she knew. Somehow, she was reminded of the awe and care surrounding objects made by elves. Had they made this forest, then? No, that did not seem right. This land had been timelessly and deeply loved by the inhabitants. That was what made this place different. But to the elves, it would just have been Home. How to explain that indeed?

"What is it like, living here?" she asked him curiously, not noticing the lull in the conversation.

"It’s hard to say." He paused, looking away thoughtfully. "Here, there is never anything that needs to be done. There is no sense of urgency. But at the same time, each day is brimming with the possibilities of things that can be done. It could be lonely, I suppose, but I seldom notice that, because there are always the elves. I do not think a single life of a hobbit is long enough to exhaust everything they know – not even here. Anything I am interested in or curious about, I can study at my leisure. But at the same time, I am not important – nobody depends upon me for anything. Letting go of my old life was difficult, but in the end, it was healing, I think."

"I read your story every time I came to Minas Tirith, at least, if they let me in to the library to see it." She smiled again, widely this time. "I think they thought I was a bit obsessed. As I got older, I understood more and more what you gave up so that we could live in relative peace, free from the threat of the Shadow. What it must have cost you.  And…well…the more I wondered if you ever found the peace that you gave us. I am so glad you did get free of the Shadow, in the end!"

"Thank you. Though you may also find that it is healing to let go of your past concern." He gave her a curious smile, and she wondered with a start if he had learned that from the wizard Gandalf.

"You need not have troubled yourself to stop here, you know. For where you are going, you may meet me. I, too, am not fully here. You see only the memory of Frodo, who once walked the hills of this green island, long ago."

Firiel smiled in reply. "I should have known it was too late, I suppose. Keep well then, until we meet again! I had not even hoped for such news. I thank you." As she spoke, she began to drift back up the hill again. When she reached the top, she faded to a barely perceptible shimmer, which was broken up by the breeze.

Frodo called "Farewell!" while he could still see her. After she disappeared from his sight, he sighed, and turned to pick up his things. The light filtering through the leaves danced on the grass. He shook his head slightly before beginning the walk back to his home. Imagine, he thought, worrying about my comfort and solace in such a place – the heart of Elvendom outside the Undying Lands!

***

"Frodo felt that he was in a timeless land that did not fade or change or fall into forgetfulness. When he had gone and passed again into the outer world, still Frodo the wanderer from the Shire would walk there, upon the grass among elanor and niphredil in fair Lothlórien."   

***

Author's Note

The character of Firiel is shameless self-insertion.  The name (which merely means 'mortal woman') is, however, given to a woman of Gondor in the poem "The Last Ship" - perhaps mine is the same.  The quotation at the end comes from the description of Cerin Amroth in The Fellowship of the Ring.  Thank you for reading!

Written:  November 29^th, 2005

Edited:  March 23 - April 7, 2006

May 25, 2007 (Correction based on suggestion made by reviewer.)