Arriving at the Feast

(written for Larner's birthday. *hugs*)

Dedicated to Panda Mae [Pandemonium ‘Mayhem’] and Zoe and Jiffy [‘Miss Jiff’] and Mwg,
(not to mention Charles the Dickens, who used to love to plink away on the keyboard and leave cryptic messages)
and Panda [Larner’s Pandora’s Hope] and Brendi [Larner's Brandybuck Lawyer],
and all the rest who are waiting at the other end of the Rainbow Bridge

Two figures amble hand-in-hand under the smiling Sun, their toes enjoying the feeling of warm sand that gives way to cool, dewy grass as they travel onward, towards the sounds of song and laughter, heralding a grand celebration just over the hill. As they crest the rise, many voices hail them, some standing out from amidst the general joyous tumult. 

‘Frodo! Took you long enough, old fellow!’ Merry shouts, waving, Pippin at his side – and yet, somehow, both of them are at the same time encircled by those of their families who have also already found their way to the Feast. ‘You don’t know what a difficult time I’ve had, restraining Pippin from eating all the best bits and drinking all the beer and saving none for you!’

He grins at Frodo, ignoring Pippin's yelp of protest, Hoi! – which Diamond neatly interrupts in any event by directing a sausage roll at her beloved’s open mouth. Hobbits have excellent aim, as everyone knows.

Estella Brandybuck unsuccessfully suppresses a wide grin at her husband’s joy, not to mention the antics of (former) Thain and Mistress, who have begun flinging food at each other with delightful accuracy. Drawing herself up to her full height (thus standing almost as high as her illustrious husband’s shoulder, perhaps only a handspan or two lower), the former Mistress of Buckland puts her hands on her hips and looks Frodo up and down. Finishing her scrutiny, she tilts her head to one side and teases, ‘Well, O dearest ancient and most venerable Donkey, I’m glad you finally deigned to stir your creaking bones and join us! Between the heroic efforts of myself and my Magnificent beloved – I don’t know quite how we managed, but – we have somehow been able, through tireless effort and by the sweat of our brows,’ (dramatically wiping her forehead, but then her own brow wrinkles as she lifts her head, narrows her eyes and adds under her breath, if one could sweat here, that is), and then she giggles and concludes her point, ‘to save a few scraps, er, choice tidbits for you and our stouthearted Mayor.’

‘Midge!’ Frodo returns in his creakiest Gaffer’s voice, sketching a bow, and then adds in his normal tones, ‘You’re looking well!’

‘Of course,’ Estella preens. ‘’As I’m sure everyone who knows anything should know, ‘twould be difficult not to look well here... It is the Feast, after all!’

Then another voice breaks into the conversation. ‘Hullo Sam! You haven’t hurried, have you?’

Frodo pushes Sam towards Rose, and Sam’s face breaks out in a beaming expression of delight that matches hers perfectly. Unlike a previous time, Samwise the stouthearted is not at all abashed at her welcome, as he answers, ‘Perhaps not... someone or other once told me there’s no time here, and so you won’t have missed me at all!’

‘Well,’ Rose pretends to pout, ‘I might have missed you just a little...’ But then the pout dissolves into laughter, and then Sam pulls her in for a long, lingering kiss that stretches on as he savours the taste of her mirth. He breaks free at last with a wink and a grin and a hug for his old gaffer, who’s looking quite a bit more youthful and dapper than Samwise remembers him. After a heartfelt embrace, Hamfast passes their son along to Bell Gamgee for a hug of her own, and behind her, Uncle Andy Roper says, ‘I’ll take one of those if I may!’ A cheer arises from the hobbits crowding behind him.

‘If you may!’ Sam laughs, throwing his arms wide to welcome the oncoming onslaught of Gamgees and Ropers and Cottons and...

Frodo is distracted from gladly watching his faithful companion’s welcome and reunion by a tap on his shoulder, coming just before he is suddenly pulled into a hearty embrace, which he returns with equal enthusiasm, revelling in the sensation of hugging his father once more. It has been so long...! 

‘Welcome,’ Drogo Baggins says, his voice muffled in Frodo’s collar as his arms tighten around his cherished son, ‘welcome Home, my boy.’ And then he breaks free from the hug, but catches Frodo’s hands in his and holds them tightly as he looks intently into Frodo’s face and says, quite earnestly for someone whose face is shining with joy, ‘Bilbo’s been telling me such astonishing tales, and so has old Gandalf, I can tell you!’

‘Gandalf?’ Frodo says in wonder, only to be interrupted by his mother’s sweet voice at his elbow. He spins around and catches her up in a glad hug while taking care not to upset the plate she’s holding. How he has missed her! 

‘They’re your favourites,’ Primula says, extending the plate to him after the hug ends, one that Frodo remembers as having pride of place every high day on the gleaming table in their parlour, whether the little Baggins family were in their own comfortable smial or visiting Brandy Hall, but no matter where they took tea, that plate was always filled with delicious treats. True to form, it is now piled high with biscuits, still warm and smelling fresh from the oven.

‘My blessed boy!’ Bilbo cries from behind her in his own joyous welcome. ‘Your mum’s biscuits have almost bewitched me away from my own favourite seedcake! Luckily, one can stuff oneself to the gills here and yet always seem to have room for more!’ As if in confirmation, Esmeralda Brandybuck nudges Saradoc, who passes a plateful of seedcake to Bilbo as they stand nearby, waiting to greet Frodo themselves when the time is right. All in good time. There is no need to rush, and all the time in the world, in this timeless place.

Of course Frodo takes a generous handful of biscuits and pops them into his mouth all at once, yet there is no need for Primula to caution him, One at a time! (laughing, of course), for no one can choke on any of the food one enjoys at the Feast, except perhaps in jest, and the food is more than plentiful, and everyone eats and drinks both what and when they wish without suffering hunger or thirst or, alternatively, the uncomfortable feeling of having overindulged, for discomfort has no place at the Feast, nor does any other form of distress.

At a cold, wet touch on his hand, Frodo looks down to meet bright eyes, high-perked ears (one of them charmingly crooked) and a wagging tail. ‘Why, hullo, little fellow!’ he says. ‘So nice to see you again! I didn’t know...’

‘O’ course ‘twouldn’t be a Feast without all of the family,’ Rosie says cheerily from Sam’s side, the two of them twining their arms around each other’s waists like young – or long-time – lovers. ‘Little Faithful is here, just as he always would come to the garden when ever I’d bring you a tray...’

As he is looking down at the little dog, Frodo notices movement nearby and, for the first time since arriving, sees a graceful calico form, up until this moment only a dim memory from his faunthood but now, suddenly, familiar and clearly remembered as if it were only yesterday his mother gently guided his tiny hand to help him feel and stroke the softness of a cat’s fur – this cat, who is now twining around his mother’s ankles. He shakes himself free of his reverie just in time to take the plate Primula thrusts into his hands, to hold it for her whilst she reaches down and scoops up the purring feline. Once the cat is secure in her arms, she reclaims the plate from Frodo, but then, with a lightning change of mind, in almost the same motion, she immediately hands the biscuits to Drogo to hold so that she can better cuddle the furry cat under her chin. 

‘O’ course,’ Frodo echoes, bemused, but at feeling the touch of a pleading paw, lifted to rest on his knee, he is recalled to the business at hand and bends down to rub the little dog’s velvety ears, one and then the other, and then both at once, wringing a pleasurable moan from the small creature as his eyes half-close in bliss at the caresses. 

Then, straightening and locking his gaze with Little Faithful’s eager eyes, Frodo reaches for another biscuit from the plate in Drogo’s hand and says, smiling at seeing the tail wag ever more wildly in happy anticipation, ‘Here you are, my fine fellow!’

He holds out the treat to his small friend, who snaps up the treat and swallows without even chewing. As part of their accustomed game, he makes a show of pulling his hand back quickly, laughing ‘Did you even taste it?’ and then lifting his hand to his face to examine his fingers as if he expects one to be missing – and they are all there! He laughs again in wonder, and his cousins raise a cheer around him. 

He grins and bows in response. ‘O’ course!’ he repeats, holding up his restored hand for all to see.

‘O’ course!’ all and sundry shout in their glee.

‘Welcome, my young friend. Well come indeed!’ And Frodo turns at the sound of deep tones spoken warmly, and he is smiling even more widely at hearing the well-loved voice, infused with laughter, as has characterised this particular speaker since the the days following the Shadow’s banishment and departure, when Gandalf was said to laugh more than he talks. ‘Gandalf!’

‘Have another one – or three! – for yourself! Plenty more where that came from!’ Olórin assures with a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with merriment as Frodo’s eye meets his. ‘Indeed! Have another gross of those wonderful biscuits!’ – and Frodo’s smile brightens as he hears Bilbo chortling nearby, as if at an old joke – ‘Why, you’ve hardly made a dent in the heap!’ 

And the old fellow has the right of it, Frodo sees, for Primula’s plate seems to refill as soon as one celebrant or another removes a biscuit – or a handful of such.

‘Now,’ Gandalf mutters, as if to himself, ‘I must get back to – what was I doing?’ – he pats at his robes in seeming bewilderment; his twinkling eyes, however, betray no hint of confusion before his face clears and seems to glow afresh with delight – ‘O yes, of course...’ 

In the Here and the Now of the Feast, the Maia is wearing the form of Gandalf the Grey as so many of those celebrating at the Feast knew him in life, and a throng of happy dogs surrounds him, jumping and wagging and barking as he pulls out double handfuls of small bone-shaped biscuits, seemingly from thin air, and tosses them in every direction. And it could go without saying – even though it doesn’t – but of course Little Faithful, for his part, must dive into the frolicsome fray, jumping high after the treats that fly into the sky and then rain down (though, as things stand, not a single one reaches the ground), catching one after another after another. 

Frodo joins in the general merriment as Gandalf’s familiar laugh sounds above the gay clamour. He is still chuckling as he scoops another handful of the warm, spicy biscuits from the plate his father holds out to him and stuffs the whole handful in his mouth. 

Rather muffled by a mouthful of melting sweetness, his jolly ‘Plenty more where these came from! Indeed!’ rings out and is echoed with enthusiasm by his merry friends and cousins and other relations as the celebration goes on...

...and on...

And on.

***

Author’s notes: 

‘Little Faithful’ was introduced in Secrets, written for Dana in my first year of exploring the joys of LOTR fanfiction. Frodo's and Estella's pet names for each other come from A Small and Passing Thing. ‘Samwise the stouthearted’ was spoken by Frodo in ‘The Stairs of Cirith Ungol’ in The Two Towers, while Rose Gamgee's welcoming words are found in ‘The Scouring of the Shire’, and ‘laugh(s) more than he talks’ reflects Pippin's description of Gandalf in ‘The Field of Cormallen’ in The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien. The Feast is my own invention since the Professor never mentioned what happens to Hobbits after they depart Middle Earth, so far as I know.

***