21 ~ Iluvitar

This morning I awake to find Sam still in my arms, his head on my shoulder. He is playing absentmindedly with the buttons on his nightshirt, one Rosie made for him before we left.

Suddenly it hits me. “You don’t want to marry Rosie yet because of your nightmares, is that it?” I ask quietly.

Sam looks up at me. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he says, avoiding my question.

“I am. Answer my question, Sam-lad,” I order him, straightening a flyaway curl on his head.

He nods. “I don’t want to frighten her if I start yellin’ in my sleep. My gaffer says I do.”

“Rosie won’t mind. She loves you, Sam. You know that,” I say.

“I want to wait a little longer yet. Mr. Merry told me his nightmares are getting better, and I was thinking that maybe if I have someone to talk about them with, mine might go away too,” Sam tells me.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” I reply.

He looks up at me, and smiles. “Thank you,” he says.

I hear his stomach rumble, and grin. “I think it’s about time for breakfast.”

* * *

“My Da wanted to see you today, Fro,” Merry tells me at breakfast. “Said he wanted to talk to you about something. He invited you over after second breakfast.”

“Is it urgent?” I ask. Most hobbits don’t have company before elevensies.

“No, but he said he misses talking to you and that he would be busy all afternoon. That was a good time for him, since you aren’t busy,” Merry replies.

After second breakfast I mount Strider and ride over to Brandy Hall.

Uncle Sara’s apartment is hardly changed since I was last there, nearly two years ago. I can see almost unnoticeable differences outside the hall where plants had obviously been destroyed and Sam had lovingly replanted them.

Aunt Esme greets me at the door with a hug. “Hullo, Frodo. How are you?” she asked.

“Well enough,” I reply. “And you?”

“Good. Your uncle is waiting in the parlor for you,” she says, nodding towards the hallway.

I enter the parlor slowly, unsure of what Uncle Sara wants to talk to me about. The last time he wanted to talk to me he told me of Lergie Bracegirdle.

“Hello, Frodo-lad! How are you today?” Uncle Sara asks, rising from his chair to give me a hug.

“I’m all right,” I reply. “You?”

“Fine, fine!” he says.

He asks me a few more questions about life in general, then his expression turns serious and he says, “Frodo, I’m going to be blunt with you. Something is wrong, I know there’s something wrong. I’ve talked with Merry, and, though not hesitant to speak of his own experiences out of the Shire, he is unwilling to say much of you.”

I nod, already uncomfortable with where this is headed.

“I may be the only hobbit in the Shire who is curious about what happened to you, but then again, Esme and I are your closest relatives who don’t know,” he continues. “What did happen to you, Frodo?”

I look down at my hands, wondering why all of the sudden they’re curious.

“Your accident the other day was quite unusual,” he says. So that’s it. “You’ve never been squeamish about spiders before.”

I sigh, preparing myself to say… something. Finally I begin. “In Mordor,” I start, “Sam and I were attacked by a giant spider.”

Uncle Sara’s eyes grow large.

“It bit me, poisoned me,” I continue. “I thought I was going to die…” I leave off, feeling my body trembling.

Uncle Sara comes to sit beside me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Why did you go to Mordor?” he asks gently.

“I had to. No one else could,” I reply. “I had to…” Memories I have been trying so hard to forget come back to me in a rush.

“Had to what?”

“I had to destroy Sauron’s weapon in Mount Doom,” I say quietly. I see the Ring again in my mind, and at once I long for it and hate it with all of my being. I feel tears in my eyes, and find myself sobbing uncontrollably in my uncle’s arms.

He rubs my back gently, comforting me as he did many years ago when my parents died. Only this time I am sure the pain will not leave me for a very long time, if at all.

This time Uncle Sara does not understand, and I doubt any one will ever truly understands what that thing did to me, how it stole my very soul.

A moment later I am a bit calmer, and I sit upright. “I’m sorry, Uncle,” I say softly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says, straightening my curls. “You’ve been very brave, Frodo, and I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” I ask. I wonder if he’d still be proud of me if he hears what I’ve done.

“Yes, really.” He smiles at me, then says, “As long as you’re here, will you stay for elevenses?”

* * *

During elevenses a messenger comes in bearing a letter and a package for me.

“Said ‘twas special, an’ important, and that I should bring it straight to you,” he tells me, bowing before he leaves.

I glance at the address, not recognizing the handwriting of the beautiful elvish script, but seeing that it is from Rivendell. I rip it open and find that it is from Queen Arwen.

Dearest Iorhael,

I pray this letter finds you well. You have been on my mind much lately, especially since Aragorn and I have seen your uncle, visiting here in Imladris. I know nothing can be changed or erased from what happened to you, but I have found these writings of your uncles in the library, and he suggested I send them to you. They are more of his translations from Elvish to Westeron, part he hadn’t sent you, I assume, to read for himself. The pages are well worn, but I’m sure you won’t find that a problem. Bilbo wishes, as I do, for you to know the love and mercy of your Creator, and this book contains many of the Elves writings on Him. I hope you will take them to heart, as Bilbo has. You are not alone, dearest. You will always be loved by Iluvitar .

May the mercy and grace of Iluvitar and my sincere prayers be with you,

Arwen

I open the box carefully and pull out the book. I have heard of Iluvitar, more often as Eru, though. I know who he is, but I do not truly know him.

Uncle Sara looks at me a moment. “Who is it from?” he asks, curious.

“Queen Arwen,” I reply, fingering the binding of the well read book with Bilbo’s name penned on the front leaf, marking it as his copy.

I open to the first page and read silently.

* “In the beginning was Eru, the One…” *

I glance over the rest of the text, then close the book and set it back with the letter in the box.

“The Queen sent you a book?” Aunt Esme asks, glancing up from her plate.

“Yes,” I answer, putting the box on the floor underneath my seat.

Somehow it comforts me to know Arwen is praying to Iluvitar on my behalf. I wonder if it will do any good after all that’s been done to me.

A/N: The quote in * is from the Silmarillion.