Chapter Twenty-One: Big Steps

"What do you do when you go there, my lad?" Bilbo asked one evening after Frodo returned from the iaun. There was still much pain in the younger hobbit’s eyes, but always there was a little more peace, a little more light after he had come back. Bilbo didn’t always hear him return or feel the bed tip a bit when his nephew crawled in long after midnight at times and put his arms around him and his head on his shoulder or chest. It had been long years since Frodo had done that as a tween, normally around the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. When Frodo and Sam were lads, they would curl up at times with each other then as well and on the anniversary of Bell Gamgee’s death. They had always known when the other needed some extra comfort and loving care. Bilbo understood that his beloved heartson had a renewed need for that security and would return the embrace and kiss that dear head when he was awake enough to do so, for sometimes he knew Frodo didn’t return at all.

"I see myself as He sees me and as I see myself and I try to make the two one person again," the younger Ring-bearer said as he sat down and Bilbo poured a late-night chamomile tea for them both.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what response he expected from his nephew, but he was sure it was nothing that profound. "Why do you trust him?"

"Because He’s my Papa and He loves me," Frodo said simply.

The ancient hobbit sipped from his cup slowly. "Gandalf has tried to explain all of this to me and I still don’t understand how someone so all-powerful let you be so hurt when he could have stopped it."

"The hurt was not His fault, Bilbo dear, but His and our Enemy’s and what hurt I brought myself because of what Sauron did to me."

Bilbo was silent for a moment. He hadn’t expected such forthright answers. Frodo had always been very open with giving his heart to those he loved most, but very private in the pain that heart at times held as all hobbits were. His eyes always revealed all, but his lips seldom.

"What did he do to you, my boy?" Bilbo asked very softly, afraid to know the answer and afraid not to know, afraid most of all that Frodo wouldn’t say anything. His boy needed him, even if he didn’t feel strong enough to hear the truth. He still knew it had to come out. "What did I do to you?"

It was a long while before the younger Ring-bearer raised his eyes from his cup. He seemed lost in the steam that rose from it. Bilbo thought he was perhaps remembering the Fire, though even his wild imagination that had made up as many tales as he had read to two eager hobbit lads, could not conceive where Frodo had been in mind and heart and body. Frodo had learned from youth that keeping pain, frustrations and disappointments all inside hurt him which is why he gradually learned to expose his heart and torment to Ilúvatar each day and feel and watch his torment slowly be soothed away. It hadn’t been an easy thing to do, but it was helping him slowly heal. But to tell Bilbo?

Tell him, My child, came Ilúvatar’s voice in him. He needs to hear. He needs to know you still love him and you need to know he still loves you.

Of course I still love him, Papa, and I know he loves me. What good would it be to tell him and hurt him anew? And...Sam would hear too. I don’t want...

Bilbo needs to understand the peace you have found so he can find the same. And Sam will love you no less.

Celebrían’s words echoed back to him and he suddenly realized he had been fighting the wrong foe. No wonder he had not made any progress.

I will do it for Bilbo and for You, Papa.

Thank you, My child.

"You didn’t do anything, Uncle," the younger Ring-bearer began slowly and quietly, not yet looking up, "It was the Enemy that hurt me. He tore me apart to make me his own. He emptied me and filled me with himself." His voice and body shuddered as he lived anew the agony of being sundered, but he did not stop as the dam he had held against his pain and shame burst at last. "Over and over he took me, twisted me, violated me, tormented me with his whispers and blandishments, his threats and shouts and screams. I was never free of his voice. He robbed me of sleep, of Sam, of memories of home, everything I held dear until there was only him and it seemed even the One I did not know Who also fought to claim me as His own was not strong enough to prevail against him. I was lost in the Enemy’s madness and I began to believe his lies. He demanded I kill Sam and I did. I hated him and myself and the Ring, but I couldn’t let it go. I began to want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I still want it, though with Papa’s help that is starting to fade at last."

Bilbo closed his eyes, though that could not stop the tears from falling. He wished he could close his ears also. He did not think he was strong enough to endure the torment that washed over and through him now, but he clenched his jaw against begging Frodo to stop. He opened his eyes again. It was worse only hearing that torn voice. It made it too real. He couldn’t bear it, but he knew he had to. His lad had borne worse. And all because he had picked up that confounded Ring.

"I didn’t know Who was the One who had protected me until Elrond told me at Rivendell before we left for here," Frodo continued, "but He always has, especially when I could not protect myself or Sam or anyone. I know now He is stronger than anyone or anything and I am glad He never abandoned me even when I begged to be let alone by both Him and the Enemy who I felt were pulling me apart until I was sure there would be nothing left of me. I am trying so hard to understand why He still loves me after all I’ve done, but He does, just like Sam does. I am still little more than an empty shell, now that the Enemy is gone and left me and I am trying so hard to fill myself up again. I can see Who Papa wants me to be, but I wonder if I will ever come to the end of that Road."

Frodo raised his eyes at last to meet his uncle’s. Tears were streaming down both their cheeks and Frodo’s agony spiked a moment when he saw all the pain in Bilbo’s ancient eyes, who used to be filled with such mischief and love. The love was still there though and Frodo hoped that his eyes mirrored the same, though he feared they were identical in love and pain. The elder Ring-bearer clasped his nephew tightly to him and Frodo held on just as tightly. They wept long in each other’s arms and sought no comfort for themselves but only for the other. Frodo felt very strongly Sam’s arms around him too.

"I’m sorry, my lad, I’m so sorry," Bilbo murmured over and over again into the younger hobbit’s curls when their tears were for the moment spent and wiped away. "Why did I ever pick up that confounded thing?"

Frodo kept his head down where he could hear his uncle’s heart and his arms remained tight around him. "Because Papa wanted you to," he said with complete calm and certainty.

Bilbo stiffened slightly at his nephew’s total trust in some power beyond his comprehension.

"I can’t believe what you do, my Frodo. No ‘Papa’ would ever allow his son to be so hurt. I went to that place in Rivendell where you did and I prayed and hoped and trusted and my trust was betrayed. I asked that you come back whole and alive and full of cheer and joy and light just like you always were and you didn’t. You are maimed in places I can see and touch and in places I can’t reach and I can do nothing to ease either."

Frodo raised his head and looked into his uncle’s eyes. "You don’t need to, Bilbo dearest. But He can and is. He can heal you too."

"I don’t need his help. I know you think he is helping you and I applaud any effort that is, but if he really is all you and Gandalf and Elrond claim, then he could have done all this himself and not involved you at all." Bilbo touched his beloved nephew’s cheek. "You would still be my sweet, sun-filled lad."

"He called me to be His at the council and I answered. That is why He made me."

"To be so hurt? If he set you apart, he could have protected you."

"He did protect me."

"Then why do you look so ravaged still? Why are you missing a finger?"

"Better a finger than what the Enemy tried to claim from me, what I very nearly gave him, would have given him, if Sam and Papa hadn’t been there." Frodo raised earnest eyes to his uncle and gave him a sad smile. "I wish I could make you understand, dearest, stubbornest Bilbo mine."

"I’m sorry, my boy. I’m too old for new beliefs, especially when I do give them credence and then find them to be false. How hard would it have been to hear and answer what I asked for? And I know I wasn’t the only one asking. Your ‘Papa’ didn’t come through anymore for you than I did."

"Yes, He did. He heard you and He answered you. Do you have any idea what our world would be like now if He hadn’t helped me when I couldn’t help myself? He didn’t coddle me, but He did love me and protect me. I have wished for the same thing as you, for the pain not to have been dealt, but no parent can shield his child from all danger without taking away all his freedom and self-will. Do you remember the time I was determined to skate across the River and nothing you could say would stop me? You knew the ice was not thick enough, but I would hear none of it. I was halfway across, feeling quite proud of myself and thinking you silly, when the ice gave way and I got a dunking that had me abed for a week. Sometimes we have to make our own mistakes and learn the hard way and our parents let us do it, though it pains them to see us so foolish. But we learn better that way and we know that we are still loved. Yes, Papa could have prevented every evil in the world. He could have prevented the Ring from ever being forged, but He did not tread upon His childrens’ freedom that way and instead worked through others of His children to help fix the mistakes another had made. He led you to find it, me to bear it and Sméagol to destroy it. Gandalf and Papa Himself have explained much to me and I understand how it all came in the end to be according to His plan, despite all the Enemy tried to do and what I did under his sway. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if Papa hadn’t been there for you and me."

Late that night, after Frodo had fallen asleep, Bilbo stayed up for a long time by his side watching that beloved one and also the candle that burned on the nightstand. For the first time, Frodo had let him hear the prayer he said every night. Bilbo didn’t tell him that he had heard it before, sometimes softly repeated over and over, when Frodo had thought him asleep. The younger hobbit was glowing more than he had since the Quest had begun, clear and strong like he had in the Shire before the Shadow had fallen. His features were more peaceful and beautiful.

Slowly Bilbo rose and went hesitantly to the iaun. He poked his head in and found no one else inside. He stepped in and took a seat. As he stared up at the light, he felt warmth, welcome and love and some of the tangled knot of anger and perceived betrayal he held in his heart and soul uncoiled.

"Thank you for taking care of my lad," he murmured.