Chapter 11 - The Prophecy

Astron 1

Frodo woke from a dreamless sleep and found himself in his room alone.

Alone.

Was he ever anything else? An only child, an orphan, a bachelor. The only person who had ever made him feel like he belonged somewhere was Bilbo, and now Bilbo was really, truly gone. He would never see the old hobbit again. Why hadn’t he asked Berwin again to stay? He had lost his nerve, had never really had any nerve to start with.

He shook his head carefully, trying to dispel the foul mood he had woken up in. He should be grateful, he knew, simply to be here, alive and well, yet he did not feel it. Where he wanted to be was on the road, with his friend at his side, headed towards Rivendell. Even if Bilbo was not yet there, he would wait. It would not be so terrible to be alone in the land of the Elves; there would be so much to see and to do, so much to learn and explore while he waited. 

Yet he was here, in the healer’s house in Bree, and would be soon heading back to the Shire where they no doubt would be talking about his disappearance and reappearance for a year and a day, if not longer. Gossip was a natural part of living among hobbits, but he often grew weary of it and had heard “Mad Baggins” too many times, whispered amongst neighbors as he walked away.

A knock upon the door disrupted his thoughts. Rowan entered with the tray of medicine and food Frodo was becoming accustomed to. He gingerly raised himself to a sitting position and leaned back against the pillows.

“You’re looking better this morning,” Rowan observed. “Still tired and sore though, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Frodo agreed with a forced smile. “Tired and sore, but mending all the same. I believe I shall survive after all.”

Rowan frowned at him concernedly and set the tray down on the table. “You do not sound pleased with this,” she said.

“Oh, I am,” Frodo rushed to assure. “I am happy to be here and well, but I just wish that the circumstances had been more ideal, that I could have gone with Berwin. I know I made the right decision not to, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No it doesn’t,” Rowan said. “It’s never easy when your heart lies in one place, and you must reside in another. I suppose the trick is to get your heart to follow you, rather than the other way around.”

“I never thought of it that way before,” Frodo said and smiled. “Thank you.”

Rowan nodded and picked up the medicine from the tray. She poured the thick liquid onto a spoon and held it out to him. Frodo took it gamely and was surprised to find it not so abhorrent and strong as the previous day. He looked closer at the bottle and noticed the label was different than the one Hazel had been using.

“How long must I take this one?” he asked.

“Three times a day for a week,” Rowan answered. “Now eat up, and get some more sleep.”

“My dreams,” Frodo said, and paused. Did he really want to tell Hazel about the things he had been dreaming? He had not dreamt during the night after all, perhaps the dreams were now over and would plague him no more.

“Are your dreams troubling you?” Rowan asked when the pause became a silence.

Frodo looked into her kind and trusting eyes, and nodded. Better to be safe than sorry. “Do you think it could be a lingering effect of the illness, or caused by the medicine even?”

Rowan shook her head. “I do not believe the medicine would cause such a thing, but I will mention it to Hazel as soon as she awakens,” she promised, then stood. “I’ll be back to collect the tray when you are finished with your meal.”

She left the room and closed the door behind her, and Frodo was alone once more. He sighed forlornly and picked up the fork to eat.

The food was delicious as he had come to expect. It even rivaled Sam’s cooking, which was saying a lot in Frodo’s opinion. The food was simple and in portions large enough to satisfy a hobbit: scrambled eggs, porridge, hash browns, fresh strawberries and cantaloupe, milk and tea. He took his time eating, savoring every bite, and allowed his thoughts to wander aimlessly as he did so.

He wondered how Berwin was doing, how far the rider had got already, and hoped the man was not so lonely as he was. It would have been nice to travel with his friend to Rivendell when his life was not in mortal peril, but it was not meant to be. He supposed he could still take that journey one day, though he honestly thought it unlikely now. He simply wasn’t like Bilbo and he would never have the nerve to leave the Shire once he returned to it. 

Maybe he would settle down after all. It wouldn’t be so bad really, to have someone else around, and he would like to have children one day before it got too late. Lots of children. No child of his will ever want for companionship. Then he would have no fear of being lonely again, though he may find that he missed his solitude dearly when he couldn’t hear himself think from all the noise a family tended to make. He remembered all too well the commotion and distraction he had been surrounded by when living in Brandy Hall. 

Yet how likely was it that he would find a lass who could put up with all of his oddities and eccentricities, not to mention his wanderlust? Lasses wanted a husband who came home every night and didn’t take off for days or weeks at a time to travel the open fields and speak with Dwarves and Elves when he could find them. How would he ever be certain that the lass wasn’t simply looking for money and the chance to claim the title of Mistress of the Hill? 

And what of him? There had been so many lasses through all the years and none of them had held his interest. They were all so incredibly dull really, talking of their knitting and their baking and whatnot, not caring to hear anything about travels or adventure. There was Melilot. She was interesting at least and seemed to have enjoyed herself at the Feast, yet she was years from her coming of age, much too young for him, and after the way he treated her, he’d be lucky to even get a rotten egg out of her again.

There had to be someone surely. If someone like Otho Sackville-Baggins could find a wife… but then again, considering his wife, that wasn’t the best example. He’d simply have to bide his time and keep his eyes open. Eventually, he might find someone, and if he didn’t and he became serious enough about it, he could always ask his friends for help. Except he would not tell Esmeralda. That was the last thing he needed. She was bad enough now as it was. He’d probably walk outside Bag End one morning to find a line of eligible hobbit lasses all the way down the Hill and won’t Sam have a time with that, trying to keep everyone off the flowers.

Sam.

Well, even if he never did settle down, Sam would always be there. Sam had said so after Bilbo first left, during that first horribly long night on his own. Sam had promised to stay as long as he was needed, and he knew that the gardener meant more than just that night. Hopefully Sam had not heard anything about his disappearance, yet how unlikely was it that such a rumor wouldn’t spread to Hobbiton? 

Oh, and how Lobelia must be dancing now. At least she was dancing in Sackville, but he did not doubt that she would make her way home once the rumor reached the Southfarthing. She and Otho would walk about, smug as can be, just waiting for a year to pass so they could go to the Mayor and declare him dead. They would have a shock if that ever did happen, for Frodo had been expeditious about drawing his will as soon as he came into his inheritance, and he had left Bag End and everything in it to Merry. Lobelia really couldn’t complain as she was, after all, always accusing him of being more than half a Brandybuck. In the meantime however, she would make life miserable for everyone.

How had he ever thought he could leave the Shire without it impacting those he left behind? He was a fool to think he could get away with something even Bilbo had not been able to do. 

Perhaps that was what all the dreams were about, to tell him to go home, but he didn’t think so. In both dreams he had been warned that ‘He’ was coming back and ‘He’ would make things worse. Yet what could he do to stop this mysterious person from doing whatever it was he was going to do? Frodo did not know, but he did know he had to get back as soon as he could. ‘You haven’t a moment to lose,’ Bilbo had warned, but he had lost a day already and looked to lose another. How long would Hazel keep him here?

As if in answer to this question, someone knocked upon the door and stepped quietly into the room. Hazel smiled pleasantly and held up a bundle of folded cloth – Frodo’s clothes. They were washed, pressed and mended. Frodo sighed with relief to see them. It had not been the foremost worry on his mind, but he had worried about them vaguely and was glad to see Berwin had not accidentally ridden off with them still in his saddlebag.

“Good morning Frodo,” Hazel said and set the clothes upon the dresser. 

She sat next to him and examined him closely, checking the progression of his recovery. His color had returned, though he still seemed a bit pale to her eyes. Hobbits weren’t normally so fair as this one, but his eyes were bright and he was alert. Perhaps that was simply his coloring. All traces of fever were gone, his coughing had subsided to an occasional irritation in the throat. She prodded his ribs: those would be sore for some time yet but already he was wincing less than before. She took the bandage off his head and left it off. Satisfied that all was physically well, she patted Frodo’s hand and leaned back to look upon him more casually. 

“You’re doing much better, I see,” she said. “Your appetite has returned,” she added as Frodo’s stomach grumbled softly, though all his breakfast was consumed. “I’ll bring you seconds in time, but first, Rowan tells me you’re having nightmares. Tell me about them.”

Frodo shifted uncomfortably and fiddled with the coverlet. “Well, I’m not certain there’s anything to tell really,” he said, reluctant to reveal to her what he thought the dreams meant. She might think him mad.

Hazel arched an eyebrow skeptically. “Then you would not have told Rowan anything,” she pointed out. “These dreams are bothering you and any stress after so grave an illness may prove too taxing for you to bear. You could become ill again and then I will have to keep you here longer. So out with it. I am not leaving this room until you tell me about these dreams.” To prove her point, she moved to the chair and settled into it comfortably. She clasped her hands together and waited patiently.

Frodo sighed and nodded. He would have to keep close on some of the details, but it couldn’t hurt to hear an objective interpretation of the dreams, if that was indeed what she was offering. So he told her about the first dream, about the meadow, creek and white void; about Bilbo and his friends and falling uncontrollably; about the eagles, the blue light and floating softly to rest. He left out the nine black specks and any mention of the ring.

“Who is Bilbo?” Hazel asked when Frodo finished his recount. She remembered this name as the cousin Berwin had mentioned the previous day, the one Frodo had wanted to go after. She knew enough about hobbits to know how extensive their family ties were, and she was curious to find out why this cousin was held in such a high regard for Frodo that he was willing to go so far to find him. Hobbits were not known for traveling abroad; not even the ones in the Bree-hill country ever ventured outside the townships.

“He is my uncle,” Frodo replied. “Well, my second cousin really, once and twice removed. He adopted me and raised me through my tweens.”

“What happened to your parents?” Hazel continued.

Frodo looked slightly taken aback by the question but answered all the same, if somewhat reluctantly. “They drowned, when I was eleven.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Thirty two years this Mersday.”

“Did they drown in the same river you nearly drowned in?” Hazel guessed and Frodo nodded. “What were you doing by the river Frodo?”

“I was lost and trying to find my way back to Brandy Hall. The river marks the western border of Buckland. I don’t see what this has to do with my dream,” Frodo finished curtly.

“I cannot interpret a dream when I don’t know who the players are,” Hazel said, noting the defensiveness in Frodo’s tone and tense shoulders. This clearly was not something he talked about often, which concerned her greatly. He should not be experiencing such pain after so long a time. “Who are the others you mentioned?” 

Frodo gave brief descriptions of Merry, Pippin, Folco, Fatty and Sam. By the time he finished, he was relaxed again, though his breath remained a bit shallower than before. The difference was so slight that only Hazel’s practiced eye was able to see it.

“And your friends on the other side of this narrow yet impassible creek were always unaware of your presence?” Hazel asked. “Then when you walked to their side of the creek, they were gone, disappeared? Did you at any point attempt to get their attention, call out to them in anyway?”

Frodo paused for a moment, thinking. He frowned and shook his head. “No, I was trying to stay with Bilbo or to get him to come with me.”

“What did he say when you asked him to come with you?”

“He said I didn’t need him, that I was doing fine taking care of myself and my friends.”

“What did you say in response?”

“I said nothing.”

Hazel considered this information, then asked, “What woke you up?”

“Curtains,” Frodo answered, then corrected himself, “Sam, I mean. Sam opened the curtains and let the light in. That’s when I woke up.”

“What about your next dream?”

Frodo skimmed through the second dream. The images of that one were still clear in his mind and he did not wish to linger over them. He told her about his crumpled piles of dirt, how Sam had shown him the correct way of making a pile before going into the River, how he then discovered he could no longer see his parents or cousins. He mentioned how the crumpled dirt piles had turned into ruined homes, how the forest had become charred and burnt. He told her about his friends’ odd behavior and what they had said. 

“And?” Hazel asked when Frodo stopped suddenly. He seemed to be hesitating, trying to decide if he should continue or not. “Who are Saradoc and Esmeralda?”

“They are my cousins; Merry’s parents. They took me in after my parents died,” Frodo replied.

Hazel nodded to herself. There was more to this than she would ever learn, but she felt she knew enough. Orphaned at a young age, cared for by cousins who, if she had any understanding of hobbit genealogy at all, would have been obligated to take him in but not adopt him. He had spent ten years in a sort of limbo, belonging to no one until Bilbo adopted him and gave him a home once more. Then Bilbo had left. Yes, that explained a lot, if not everything.

“How did you wake up from that dream?” Hazel asked, keeping her thoughts to herself for the time being.

Frodo closed his eyes and shuddered. With his eyes still closed tight, he said, “I was grabbed from behind by a hooded figure. It thanked me for leaving. I screamed and woke up.” He opened his eyes and looked at her warily. 

Hazel regarded him closely, a puzzled and bewildered expression on her face. “Do you often have these sorts of dreams?” she asked softly.

“No,” Frodo answered quickly, then said even more softly than she, “not often.”

“But you have had them before?”

Frodo shifted uncomfortably and fixed his attention back to the coverlet. He played with a frayed thread for several moments before responding. “They’re just dreams. They don’t mean anything.”

“Tell me about one of these other dreams,” Hazel requested.

“I would really rather not,” Frodo whispered. 

“I cannot help you Frodo if you do not tell me everything,” Hazel said. “Whatever you tell me will not leave this room. You can speak freely here; I will not judge. I’m merely here to help if I can.”

Frodo breathed deeply and closed his eyes shut once more. He let his breath out slowly and nodded ever so slightly. “There was a dream, my second night in Buckland. I was in a sort of tunnel or passage. It was dark and there was fog all around. I was looking desperately for something, but I didn’t know what. I only knew that if I went a little bit farther, I would find it and everything would be all right. Only I failed. I ran out of breath and I collapsed. That’s when the fog lifted and I saw, just barely out of my reach, what it was I was looking for, but by then I had not the strength to move. Then the ground opened up beneath me and I fell. Pippin woke me up from that one, said I wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t remember any of it at the time; I don’t know why I remember it now.”

“What was it that you were looking for?” Hazel asked, intrigued.

Frodo shook his head. “I don’t know, but they are just dreams, aren’t they?” he asked again imploringly.

“No Frodo, they are not,” Hazel said. “They are glimpses into your heart and mind. Ordinary dreams can sometimes tell you things you cannot see, or do not wish to see, during waking day. I do not know you well enough to attempt anything other than a literal interpretation, but I will offer one if you would like.”

Frodo hesitated, then nodded.

“Your first dream is rather straightforward. You think that the only place you belong is with this one particular cousin of yours, with Bilbo. You feel that your other cousins and friends don’t notice how alone you are, how cutoff you feel, yet at the same time you do not let them in. You do not tell them how you feel, you create barriers between yourself and them. Bilbo is who you trust completely, yet he is in this void, he is inaccessible to you, unavailable for comfort, and he doesn’t notice this. He left you to your own defenses and did not fully consider the impact it would have on you. You weren’t ready to be on your own, and that doubt still lingers with you. When he voiced his confidence in you, you did not agree with him. You said nothing of your own abilities. He wanted you to stand on your own, and again he left you before you were ready. When you discovered that your friends were also gone, you panicked and fell. That is when you called for help, when things were most dire and you had already lost all control and hope. Then help came and brought you to peace. In the end, all you had to do was ask, to open yourself up,” Hazel finished. “What do you have to say to this?”

“That it’s true,” Frodo said, a bit unnerved that the healer had seen him so well through just a simple dream. “Is it so wrong of me to want to be with Bilbo again?”

“No, it is not,” Hazel answered, “but I do not believe that is the question you need to be asking yourself. It’s natural to want to be with those you love. As such, it seems odd to me that you would rather be with this one cousin than all the others that wait for you in the Shire. Do they mean so little to you then?”

“No, of course not,” Frodo exclaimed. “I love them all dearly. I would do anything for them.”

“Yet you feel they do not care for you in the same way,” Hazel said.

“I know they care, but they have each other and families of their own. They don’t need me.”

“They do need you Frodo. You don’t love people if you don’t need them in some way. Need is what brings people together, and love keeps them at your side. They may have families of their own, but there are some bonds stronger than blood.” Hazel waited for this to sink in, then continued with her analysis. “You say that they care and that you know this, yet at the same time, you do not feel that you matter to them. That’s why you don’t impose yourself on them. Why else would you be so eager to leave them, on their own, before they’re ready for it? Would you leave them as you were left?”

Frodo made no reply but his brow furrowed as he considered the questions. He had never seen the situation in quite that way before, would never have made such a connection, but it was all too true now that he did see it. He was about to do to his friends what he had spent so much of his life in grief of: leave them without comfort or care. No, that was not entirely true. They had parents, they had families to love them and take care of them. Yet Pippin had called them all brothers, and that was a bond that was stronger than mere cousins. 

He looked up to find Hazel waiting patiently. She said nothing further and seemed to have spoken her mind on the first dream. “What of the second dream?” he asked, almost dreading the answer.

Hazel shook her head. “I do not know. That was not an ordinary dream. It visits again the theme of being abandoned too soon, before you are ready to be on your own, of your feelings of incompetency, and again stresses your importance to your friends, but there is more to it than that I feel. There are elements at work in this one that I do not believe came from you. The first dream had those elements also, but in this one they dominated. The dirt turned to destroyed homes, the forest turned black, the hooded figure. I do not know much in the way of magic, but I would guess this is a prophecy of some sort. Or a warning.”

Frodo jerked his head up at this and locked his eyes with hers. “What do you mean?”

“You have already figured that out on you own, have you not?” Hazel guessed, for Frodo had the look of one caught doing or thinking something he shouldn’t. “You are not telling me everything Frodo, so I cannot say for certain, but it seems clear that you are needed at home, if nothing else. You are well enough now. You may leave tomorrow morning. Rowan will take you by carriage to the borders of your land.”

“You do not think me mad?” Frodo asked with tentative relief. 

Hazel shook her head. “I do not, but there is clearly something different about you. Do not begrudge your differences. It is often those who walk a different path from the rest of us who we end up needing the most. They show us things the rest of us are blind to; they accomplish things the rest of us wouldn’t even attempt. It is not always easy, and you will often feel alone, but you have friends who care and will do anything for you, and that is more than a lot of us have.”

With that, she stood up and placed a cool hand to Frodo’s forehead. She smiled warmly. “I will be back in an hour with your second breakfast. Get some rest now. You will need it for your journey home, and whatever it is that awaits you there.”

“Wait,” Frodo said before she could leave. “What about the tunnel and the fog? What does that mean?”

“I do not know Frodo,” Hazel said. “Perhaps it means that you are looking for meaning in your life and you don’t know where to find it. Perhaps it means something entirely different. It could even be a memory. That is for you to discover.”

Hazel picked up the tray and left the room silently. Frodo watched her leave, unsure what to make of her guesses and not liking any of them.

Frodo spent much of the day either deep in sleep or deep in thought. His dreams were plagued with vague images and distant echoes that fled his memory upon waking but left him with a sense of dread and foreboding. Each time he woke, he hoped to find it tomorrow morning so he could be on his way, if only to get the dreams to stop.

His thoughts, meanwhile, were completely preoccupied with Hazel’s words. Why had he been so eager to leave the Shire, to go off after Bilbo? He could think of only one answer: because Bilbo was home. Bilbo was comfort and safety; he was the shelter from the storm. He had taken Frodo in and given him a home and unwavering love when he needed it most. He had taken a wayward tween and somehow managed to raise a responsible well-rounded hobbit.

A responsible well-rounded hobbit who abandoned his friends at a moment’s notice. Sam had been right. Frodo does know how is it to drown in tears, and he was callous and selfish to have ever considered doing the same to his cousins, who did care for him. In their own way, they needed him and he would be there for them.

But truthfully, he was afraid. Merry and Pippin were growing up so fast. It was just a matter of time before they came of age, got married and began their own lives. How would Frodo fit in then? Not only that, they were also the heirs to the headship of their families. They would one day have to shoulder that additional responsibility. They would hardly have time for a wayward, eccentric older cousin when that day came. Frodo would be left behind again.

‘Well, perhaps that would be a good time to go after Bilbo,’ Frodo thought and it gave him hope. Frodo settled into his sheets and closed his eyes. He could wait until then. He just hoped it would not be too late, that Bilbo would still be alive and well.

The light in the room was dimming with the setting of the sun. His eyes drooped again with heaviness and soon he was sleeping peacefully.

The misty veil returned. He was stumbling in the dark, arms stretched out blindly before him. He was almost there, it was just within his grasp, just one more corner, one more turn…

A menacing laugh filled the air as he came to a dead end. The laugh echoed and reverberated, growing deafeningly loud, as he felt his way along the rocky surface of the wall. He found he was going around in a large circle, he was trapped and there was no way out. How could he get home now?

“It matters not,” a sinister voice answered with a sneer. “You are already too late.”

To be continued…