Chapter Two: Frodo

Frodo approached the stone garden, not far from the shore; a place he went to instinctively, lost in peaceful thoughts of silver and blue that were calming to his soul. Unknown years had passed since he had stepped ashore on Tol Eressëa for the first time, and Frodo soon had discovered that time -  in the sense he knew it - did not matter here. Not at all. This was eternity, grace, and joy; and a small hobbit from Arda tended to feel even smaller in the indescribable beauty of this isle.

Not that feeling small had mattered to Frodo. This had been a feeling he had even welcomed after he had begun to make this place his new home; in mind, thoughts and deeds. He had been filled with awe and wonder at this new world he only knew from distant dreams.

As soon as he had recovered from the exciting, but exhausting journey over the Sea and through the Straight Road, he explored the island from top to bottom. Bilbo had soon joined him; the old hobbit had seemingly regained a great deal of his old strength and began to feel more energetic with the dawning of every new day.

Frodo was very grateful to witness Bilbo‘s recovery; he so wanted his dear uncle to enjoy this wondrous place, with all his senses, not hindered by weariness. Bilbo even started to look younger as the days passed.

Frodo rejoiced clearly in the surrounding peace which balmed his tortured mind and soul with such gentleness. Sometimes Frodo found himself shedding tears of relief and joy, weeping away the inner pain and sadness that had built in him for so long.

 "... not all tears are an evil..."

Gandalf had been right; but Frodo had only learned the full meaning of those words when he arrived here. For the first time in his life he found that tears could be shed without having to mourn, and of pure bliss. Frodo wondered why he never had realised that before. But here it struck him, and he welcomed and accepted this gentle healing whenever it consumed him.

Healing had indeed come, at last.

In the beginning, Frodo only had felt a soothing effect, and the anniversary illnesses had returned for years to come (that often was the only sign of time Frodo had noticed consciously). In times of illness Frodo had never been left alone. Surrounded by loving and gentle friends and caretakers, like Elrond, his wife Celebrían, Lady Galadriel, and certainly his beloved Bilbo. All of them had been comforting and helpful when he was poorly, and Frodo was aware of the respect and love they all felt for him.

His inner torment had mended slowly;  the pain, darkness and torture in his body and soul had become less terrifying than they had been while he had been still living in the Shire. Finally the pain and guilt had simply broken away and had ceased to be as intense. Nightmares had become nothing more than a bad and faint memory and had released Frodo from their strong and crushing grip. The wounds that remained had become bearable. Acceptable. The paralising tight and choking grip of the terror was no more. The desire for the Ring had faded into sun - and starlight, and soon this desire inside of Frodo had ceased. It was replaced by radiating warmth and light inside and around him. Soon he began to feel whole and happy again.

‘I wish I could tell Sam, Merry, and Pippin how I have recovered,‘ Frodo thought more than once.
'Sometimes I wish I could let Aragorn and the others know that I found some peace here...‘

Naturally, Frodo had been aware of their concern, and there was this lingering wish inside of him to shout out his newfound joy and to share it with his friends far on the Eastern Shore. Frodo hoped they could feel or sense it somehow; just as Frodo often had visions and comforting thoughts of them.

Sam and Rosie, with their growing number of children. Sam, whole and happy, looking mature and grown. Elanor, his little star-flower, bouncing in Rosie‘s lap. Frodo-lad hiding from his mum, giggling with joy.

Merry and Pippin appeared in his visions as well, and there also was this hint to whole- and happiness.

His youngest cousin, laughing cheerfully, hugging a pretty lass close. But oh, Pippin now also had an air of maturity about him; though he did not look as serious as dear Merry who seemed to be aware of his responsibility  in Buckland.

Frodo felt proud of both his cousins.

Often there were days when Frodo felt strongly that he was missed. Then melancholy could take hold of him, but now it was mingled with acceptance and the knowledge that destiny was being friendly to all of them. At last.

~*~

Frodo had soon asked for ink, a quill and some paper, and those treasures were given happily to him. Writing remained to belong to his most beloved activities, and that would not ever change until the end of his life. He began to write songs and poems again; something he had not done anymore since the Quest had taken him on his perilous journey.

Now Frodo felt like writing for his pleasure again, and enjoyed letting his spirits roam free in creativity. His current writings differed slightly from those he had done in the Shire, and they felt more ethereal and fragile.

After some time of writing, Frodo had fallen asleep in his chair in the sun, close to the Sea, with his writings spread out around and before him.  A humming bee sat down on one of the papers that swayed softly in the summer breeze, and it seemed like the little one was carefully deciphering the elegantly written down lines in Quenya just a few minutes before:
 

"When shall we all meet again?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign.
When shall we all meet again?"
 

Frodo had stretched and sighed, becoming sleepy in the warm sun in this sheltered garden of stone where he often retreated to write when the weather permitted it. Frodo often fell asleep while relaxing in the sun, taking a break from writing or deepening his knowledge of Quenya and Sindarin. What he did not know was that Elrond was usually the one who sent him into recovering sleep. Frodo still needed it, even after all this time; though he felt so calm, and filled with wondrous and gentle joy and tenderness towards his surroundings, be it the people or nature.

Now he had wearily sunk into dreams once more. But it did not take long before he opened his eyes again, feeling refreshed, though slightly restless. He arose, walking slowly - oh, so slowly - down to the white shoreline, highly aware of the beautiful songs around. They were uniting to a symphony that nearly seemed to overwhelm the small and fair hobbit. His own song rose in joy to join the others.

Frodo revelled in this experience everytime, and he was enjoying its intensity more and more. His own song had transformed from a sad, weary one to a melody filled with radiant happiness and acceptance. And Frodo was now aware of his own, personal song; a few notes perhaps in the whole melody, but it was definitely adding to its eternal beauty.

As Frodo went on, he listened carefully: there was a new voice in the ethereal song. A voice he knew... and yet it was uncommon to hear it here in Aman! For the voice belonged to... no, it could not be. Not here, not on Tol Eressëa. It was just a wish, mirroring the song he was currently writing.

This new song was gentle, and calm, yet filled with strength and experience. And with wonder.

Frodo stood still, and he closed his eyes for a second to listen more intently. Yes. It must be -- but oh, that was impossible!

Frodo sighed, and he looked up into the blue sky and then towards the majestic mountains. He felt hopeful, and also highly confused. He walked on, still ever so slowly, as in a dream. After a while he reached the end of the green meadows that merged into the white sand that covered the shore of the island. Frodo stood there on the beach and spotted a figure. The person was inspecting a Swan Boat that was floating in the surf.

‘This is strange,‘ Frodo thought. ‘Alqualondë is far away, and the boats that are built here look very simple, with litte carving and no swan front.'

Once more he looked at the figure, that was standing knee-deep in the water. Frodo was amazed. Could it really be true? This was no elf. This was... no, it must be another person. Or this was -- most likely -- a dream.

Nevertheless, Frodo Baggins smiled and ran silently to the shore (everything was so silent!), eager to discover if this really was one of the dearest friends he had ever known.

The closer he came, the more sure he was. And the frontiers of dreams and reality became unimportant. Important was only the sight before him. Tears welled in Frodo‘s eyes, but not for long. They fell down his cheeks and leaving nothing but great delight and gratefulness.
 

Frodo smiled, his eyes shining with wonder and joy.

"Aragorn," he whispered, barely audible. The Gondorian had turned, staring at him with disbelief in his eyes, that slowly turned to recognition, and  Frodo suddenly saw his own feelings mirrored in Aragorn‘s eyes.

Aragorn fell to his knees; and then they were embracing each other; an embrace, fierce and yet fragile. The man and the hobbit were weeping and laughing, while little waves were pounding over their feet. They held each other silently for a long while, deeply amazed.

~*~*~

*TBC*