Chapter Fourteen: Confession

Frodo told the Gamgees and also sent word to Merry and Pippin at Crickhollow that he was leaving with Gandalf to visit Bilbo in Rivendell, stating in his quick note to his cousins that Shadowfax would bring them so the trip there and back would be much faster than it had been the first time they had gone there.

As Gandalf settled Frodo atop the horse, the hobbit felt for Sam’s presence near him. Are you going to be able to keep up, Sam? He was genuinely fearful.

Frodo felt his friend’s love fill him like a smile that reached from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. I will keep up, dearheart. You can’t outrun me.

I hope not. I wouldn’t even want to try.

Gandalf sat behind Frodo and held him tight against him. The Ring-bearer felt quite safe and warm. A distant memory came to him of being held against his father’s chest the first time he had ridden a pony and he sighed in contentment.

"Ready, Frodo?"

Ready, Sam?

Ready.

"Ready, Gandalf."

They traveled at a slow walk down the Row, then once they came into the Road, they quickly gathered speed, until they were galloping. The day was bright, the air fresh and clean and crisp. Frodo found a bubble of joy rising in him that erupted into a laugh. He heard Gandalf’s laughter in response and reveled in both. How long it had been since he had felt like laughing or had heard anyone else’s! He pressed his hand against his heart. Sam was indeed keeping up and almost as an echo of his own, Frodo thought he could hear his friend’s laughter. He hugged that dear presence close to him.

It was still sometime before they reached Rivendell, but it was much faster on such a steed. Shadowfax did not tire easily even with two riders, but knew when his smallest needed a stop. Frodo slept easily in Gandalf’s arms atop the horse, but he was glad also to be able to dismount at night and stretch his legs. The animal took special care of him, knowing or seeming to know what Frodo had done and giving his gratitude to him as well, nickering and rubbing his nose against Frodo’s hand as the hobbit fed him and spoke softly to him. The former Ring-bearer looked up at Gandalf and smiled at such love being shown.

"I had a pony once when I was young, before my parents died. Starlight was his name. He was white like Shadowfax and very beautiful. I left him at the Hall when I moved to Bag End. I miss him sometimes."

Each night, Shadowfax lay down so Frodo could rest against his flank. Even in the cool nights, the hobbit was warm and felt protected and loved. Gandalf smiled at the two of them as he smoked his pipe long into the night. There was a small smile gracing Frodo’s features. He shone softly in the moonlight and the wizard knew Sam shared his gaze and quiet, deep joy that their dear friend had a little happiness at last.

They reached Rivendell in the afternoon. Frodo looked around only for the second time at the Elven haven and it seemed to be not as bright as the first time. Then he remembered Elrond’s words that the three Elven rings would fail when the Ring was destroyed. He felt a cold grief pierce him at that and all the happiness from the previous days vanished as though it had never been. It had been slowly disappearing over the last several days as the hobbit had grown more troubled and withdrawn the closer they came.

Elrond came down to meet them as they entered a courtyard. He bowed his head. "Welcome back, Frodo, son of Drogo."  He bowed again.  "And to you, Samwise, son of Hamfast. It is good that you two have come."

Frodo looked a little surprised at the Elf’s awareness of Sam’s presence which was not visible. He dismounted and bowed. "Le hannon, hir nin. I’m sorry that Rivendell is failing."

"It is the price we agreed to pay for the destruction of the Ring. Better it and the Wood fail, then the whole world. It is not your fault, Iorhael."

Frodo received his second startlement at the Elvish use of his name. Elrond smiled at him and a little light entered the gloom that had settled once more around his heart. The Elf-lord held out his hand and Frodo took it. "Your uncle anxiously awaits you. My people will not linger much longer here in this land and I fear Bilbo will not either. We cannot hold back the ravages of time as much as we would like to sometimes. But there are other hurts that can be healed still."

Frodo looked up at him and felt comforted. He had felt that if any place could heal him of his broken heart it would be here, but there was still fire to walk through before the healing dew could be felt on his cheeks and hands, if it could be felt at all.

Bilbo looked up from his book when he saw his nephew enter. Ancient features lost much of their strain as they broke into a smile. Frodo ran to his uncle and buried himself in those beloved arms that had sheltered him from many a storm before. He cried long and hard and Bilbo held him tight and murmured comforts, all the while not knowing what all that the tears were for.

Finally, Frodo looked up at his uncle and Bilbo wiped away the last of his tears. He smiled, though the agony he saw in those beautiful, once so shining eyes tore at him. "Now what was all that for, my lad? Elrond told me of your great victory at the Fire and I’ve been waiting for you to come back and tell me all about it. I’ve saved several chapters for it in my book and was beginning to become very afraid you wouldn’t even come in time for me to write it all down."

"I’m sorry, Uncle. I should have come sooner, but...but... There was no great victory or at least it was not my victory. I couldn’t destroy it, not at the end. And I had already destroyed what I should never have."

"What riddles are these, my boy? And where’s Sam?"

Frodo gulped. He nearly lost all his will to speak of it, but he felt Sam’s presence near him, like a hand on his shoulder. "He’s here, Uncle, but he’s not here. He...died on the way."

Bilbo’s aged eyes widened. "Died?" He tightened his arms around his nephew again and rocked him gently. "Oh, my boy, how terrible for you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. No wonder you look like you’ve lost half of your heart."

Frodo let himself feel all the love in that embrace and wished he could just go on feeling it forever, as he had felt so many other times, whether he had woken from nightmares or had other hurts. Bilbo had always been there to hold him and wipe his tears and tell him how much he loved him. He braced himself for the loss of it all.

"I have, Uncle, more than half."

"Oh, I wish I had never come across that Ring. I have wished that so many times, waiting in my room for you to come back, nursing my hopes even when they began to fade. I wish I could have gone with you, kept you safe, kept you both safe. This is all my fault. I should have never picked that thing up."

"It’s not your fault, Uncle," came Frodo’s muffled reply. "Gandalf told me it was all meant to happen, you and me having it. I wish it had remained forever lost too, that it hadn’t called out to Smeagol, hadn’t damaged him, hadn’t come to you or me, but then it would have fallen to someone else to find and...and it’s better that it was me."

Frodo looked up into those loving eyes as Bilbo smiled at him and stroked his curls. "I remember what you said about being proud of me that one time I sprained my ankle, for taking hurt so no one else would be. That’s the reason I took the Ring out of the Shire, but then...then...someone else was hurt."

"Sam."

"Oh, Uncle! It was so horrible. It took me. I couldn’t stop...I couldn’t stop..."

Bilbo held Frodo tighter as the younger Ring-bearer buried his head again in his uncle’s chest and dissolved into bitter tears once more and his small frame shook with terrible grief.

"I know well the power of that terrible thing, my lad," Bilbo said and his own tears fell into his nephew’s curls. "How I have suffered to unknowingly give you such a great burden, and then to watch you leave with it, wondering if I would ever see you again and fearing greatly that I wouldn’t. But you were so brave and determined. I was so proud of you, so very proud. I don’t think I ever loved you more than I did that day. I am still proud of you. My hero."

"But I’m not, Uncle. I am a villain. You should hate and despise me."

"And why is that?"

"Because I killed Sam!" The words came out as a muffled shout against the layers of clothing in which Bilbo was wrapped.

The ancient hobbit stopped his gentle stroking of Frodo’s curls for just an instant in his shock, then resumed. "Oh, my boy, my dear boy. Why did I pick it up? Why did I pick it up? It hurt you so badly. I hurt you so badly. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry..."

Bilbo kept repeating that over and over, his own heart torn in two, bleeding as it had not since the deaths of Primula and Drogo decades before. He had held Frodo then, heard and saw the same tears, the hitched breaths and agony too great for the whole world to contain that spilled out of the shattered heart of a tiny 12-year-old hobbit. He had looked up into those expressive eyes and seen something more than torment, the same thing he heard now. It had taken all his powers of persuasion and bribes and tricks to get Frodo to tell him that time and so draw the poison out from the lad’s heart.

"It’s all my fault, Uncle. If only I had been better, they wouldn’t have wanted to go away from me. They said they needed time alone, but if I had behaved better, they wouldn’t have thought that and they would have stayed. It’s all my fault."

"Of course, it’s not your fault, Frodo-lad. All parents need a little time away at times. It’s not because you were naughty that they left that night. They loved you more than anything and I know you loved them just as much. You were their joy and treasure. It was not in any way your fault that they died. You had nothing to do with it. It was an accident, a terrible accident."

"I wish I had been with them."

"Then you would have died too."

"I want to die."

"Oh, my dear boy, they would want you to live. I want you to live. All your aunts and uncles and cousins want you to live."

"How can I? It feels so empty inside."

"Then let me fill it up, let us all fill you up. We can’t replace your parents, but we can still love you."

"Oh, my boy, my beloved, beautiful boy," Bilbo said and kissed that dear head. "Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control."

"But it was my hand that held the blade, Uncle. It was my hand."

Bilbo felt suddenly sick as it grew even more apparent that his dear friend’s death was his fault, not Frodo’s at all. He closed his eyes. Sam was killed by Sting, the blade I gave. Oh no, oh no. His apologies came more brokenly now as he wept with his nephew. He knew he should still be holding him, but suddenly he could not bear to. He let go and reached for the chamberpot under his bed and was violently sick.

When Elrond came to check on them a few minutes later, he saw Frodo wiping at his uncle’s mouth and helping him lie down in bed. The younger hobbit then curled up against Bilbo and wrapped his arms around him. He heard the Ring-bearer’s murmured comforts, his voice softly raised in lullaby.

"Sleep, love, and dream of a land of peace and repose,

That can only be reached when the weary eyelids close;

Where the sun ever shines and in spring-time the flowers are gay,

And the cares of this waking world fade softly away.

"Sleep, love, and dream of a land where hope never dies,

Where no dark clouds of care or sorrow ever arise

To darken the light of that endless blissful day,

And the cares of this waking world fade softly away.

"Close now your eyes, dear one, and hold tight to my hand,

And we’ll fly o’er the clouds of dreams to that far distant land;

And you’ll sing in the sun with the birds all the long, long day,

While the cares of this waking world fade softly away."

Frodo kissed his uncle’s head, settled his head against Bilbo’s heart and they both slept as Sam watched over them. The Elf lord softly closed the door behind him. The wound had been lanced, the infection had begun to drain. __

A/N: The lullaby was of course from the queen. Hir nin is my lord.