Chapter Twenty-Three: Our Father Who Art In Heaven

Frodo’s healing continued to accelerate until the light in him grew to nearly match that of the Firstborn. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel both remarked upon it to him as did Lady Celebrían and Olórin and they all reveled in the Music that came from his fea. It was the sweet symphony that the Maia had been enchanted with from the moment he had first heard it: an almost Elvish melody that he hadn’t heard before in a hobbit. Threaded through it now was a sad melody that told of all of Frodo’s trials. Still that made the music all the more beautiful because it told also of the victory over those tribulations. The Elves had not heard the full symphony before but listened now in the evening to it and smiled and thanked Ilúvatar for such a gift. The Ring-bearer beamed at their words and Bilbo was more convinced than ever that his beloved heir had much more to him than even he originally thought. Sam’s love and pride in his dearest brother’s accomplishments was a visible force.

"You are becoming so bright, my lad," Bilbo commented one night, "that I hardly even need a light to read by anymore."

Frodo laughed, giggled actually, and how very long it had been since he had been able to do that! He felt almost like he was aging backwards, that he was becoming nothing but an innocent, carefree hobbit again. The shadows were being exorcized from even the deepest recesses of his soul and he was reclaiming more and more of it for himself and for the One who had created it, Who he realized ever more had kept it safe, even when it was being lacerated and torn apart. He was learning every day how better to understand that his suffering had somehow been necessary to bring about who he was now and that he had never, never been abandoned or unloved. It was becoming easier to integrate who he was, who he had been and who he knew Ilúvatar wanted him to still be. Yet he knew there was still more work to be done. He still couldn’t hear his part in the Song. What little pain lingered blocked him from that.

His joy and healing was increased by how readily Bilbo was embracing his Creator also. There had been within the elder Ring-bearer a remaining longing for the Ring also and through Ilúvatar’s aid and through Celebrimbor’s who had informally adopted him as much as Celebrían had Frodo, he was recovering from that. There was a light coming to him also that Frodo began to see and rejoice in and that Gandalf could see even more brightly. The Maia wondered whether he should warn Frodo what that meant when Bilbo spoke of it himself one night.

"I’m ready for my next adventure, Frodo lad, my last and my greatest," he said as he laid down carefully one night. His joints were particularly painful and Frodo hastened to help him get more comfortable, though he grew suddenly fearful as to what Bilbo’s words meant.

He had indeed seen the signs of aging and illness once more in his beloved uncle. The time and air here had done so much to heal the ancient hobbit, but mortality was gaining the upper hand again as Frodo knew it must at some point. It had not gone unnoticed by the younger hobbit that Lord Elrond frequently dosed him with medicinal teas and stronger things as time wore on for the only two mortals in the blessed land. But he had not wanted to think of that coming time and had simply assumed they would both go together.

Bilbo looked into those beautiful eyes he had first gazed into when Frodo was only months old. He had never fallen out of love with them. He took one slim, beloved hand, stained with ink and rubbed at the writer’s callus there. "I am so proud of you, my best and most beloved hobbit, the son of my heart and heir. You have grown so much. I love you more than I could ever tell you so I shan’t even begin to try. All the time in the world wouldn’t be long enough. I’m sure Sam knows how that feels. You are shining now even more than you did in the Shire and it is that I have been hoping for since I began to watch it fade. I don’t need to linger any further for you have fulfilled my dream."

Frodo grasped Bilbo’s hand tightly, tears bright in his eyes. "Then I don’t need to stay either, Uncle. You have found your peace also. Take me with you, please, let me come with you."

Bilbo sighed. He squeezed Frodo’s hand at first strongly, then smiled, gazing into those eyes and that face now streaking with tears, and his grip began to loosen.

"Bilbo! Papa!" Frodo cried. "Don’t leave me!" He tightened his grip on his uncle’s hand, taking it now in both of his, as though he could be taken up with him, through the connection of their joined flesh.

Bilbo’s eyes widened, now staring past Frodo’s shoulder. "Oh, my lad, it’s so bright and so beautiful." He turned back to gaze at his beloved nephew. "It is waiting for you. Namarie," he said softly with his last breath. "Melinyel."

"No! No! Bilbo! Papa, please! Let me come, too!"

It is not your time, My child.

But what is left for me now here? I want to be with You and Sam and Bilbo and my parents.

You will be, but there is something you need to do first. One last thing that will complete your healing.

* * *

At the funeral, Frodo leaned down and kissed his uncle’s brow one last time and then watched as he was buried on top of the hill where their smial was dug, overlooking the Sea. "Namarie, uncle," he said. "Melinyel."

Sam filled him with his love and he felt the embrace of Ilúvatar also, but even those two things seemed not big enough to fill the sudden void in his heart. What time he didn’t spend at the grave, he spent in the iaun.

When, Papa, when? was his constant question. He felt more of an exile in the blessed land than he had since he first arrived. He felt out of place and nothing seemed to be able to ease that. He didn’t feel he belonged anymore. His favorite haunts beckoned to him: the beach where he stood in the Sea and listened to the Music and looked east; the tree he loved to lean against that reminded him of his one back in the Shire; the cushion that he loved to sit on in the library under the sunlit window, lost in one volume of history or another or composing his own stories and verse. How happy he had been here with his friends and uncle and Sam. He felt he had fit right in, but how he felt he was a stranger now, an odd piece that did not fit anymore.

Why must I still be alone?

You are never alone, My child.

Then why can’t I be with you, Papa? Sam and Bilbo have gone on and I’m still stuck here.

They are still with you, Iorhaelnya.

I know, but they are in a world I am not and they are no longer in my world.

I am in both. Use Me as your bridge.

* * *

Time dragged on for Frodo. He took long walks with Sam who comforted him the best he could and ever so slowly the pain lost its serrated edge. His questions grew less and he was more satisfied with the answer of Wait when he asked when he could come. He began the process of healing again that had been interrupted by Bilbo’s death and he began to feel differently about his place in the West. It had not returned to feeling like his home as it had for many years, but he returned to his cushion in the library and his specially constructed chair in the Hall of Fire and he began to write again and to draw some of what he dreamed of. Peace began to take up its abode again in his heart. Even though the feeling did not leave him that this was not his home, it had changed into the knowledge that his home awaited him still and it was not far. He was far into that journey now and he knew with increasing hope and anticipation that he would walk to the end of the same Road that Sam and Bilbo had walked before him.

But the Road doesn’t end there, dear, Sam said one night. It’s almost like the Straight Road that got us here, but the opposite. Only mortals can travel the one you are already on but continues beyond where any Elf can reach, just like the path over the Sea can be traveled only so far by mortals but goes on for Elves.

What is it like, Sam?

Think of all the Elven lands you ever saw and how beautiful they were and how even fairer this land is and how your breath was taken away the first morning you beheld it. And then think of something even more beautiful than anything you ever saw in your entire life. Even then you can’t come close. I saw it every time I looked into the light into your eyes, but that was merely the briefest, smallest glimpse.

Frodo smiled and looked to where Sam was. Then I know what it looks like, because I saw it every time you looked at me and smiled and loved me.

Frodo returned to the iaun that afternoon and he knew it would be for the last time. Olórin came with him and sat beside him with a smile. The hobbit took his friend’s hand and closed his eyes.

"I can hear my music, Gandalf," he breathed in wonder. "It’s so beautiful."

The Maia’s smile widened as he looked down at the shining being beside him. "One of the most beautiful melodies Ilúvatar ever created," he said in agreement.

"Sam’s was lovelier."

They sat silently for a few moments. Olórin hadn’t missed that Frodo had said ‘was’ but he knew something that Frodo didn’t. He wasn’t surprised when the hobbit’s breath hitched for a moment and his hand tightened around his. "I can hear it again, Gandalf, oh I can hear it!"

The ancient being looked at Frodo’s utterly blissful countenance. His hand relaxed its grip. "I’ve heard it since I was 12," he said dreamily. "It was after my parents died. I did not know what it was then but whenever I needed it the most I heard it and it was so beautiful. Most of the time I was in bed and crying and it brought me such comfort."

"It was Ilúvatar sending you His consolation."

"I heard it again when I first met Sam and that’s when I knew it came from him. I heard it every day after that, in joyful times and in sad times. Sometimes I stayed awake on the Quest, just to listen to it. It brought me more relief than sleeping did. I haven’t heard it since he died. I thought I had killed that lovely song."

"Oh, no, my dear hobbit, you can’t kill that," Olórin assured. "Sauron tried for he heard it too, and your melody and Aragorn’s and everyone else’s. That was why he tried to destroy all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. It was unbearably painful for him to hear such beauty. You have simply been deafened to it yourself until now. Your song and Sam’s and all else will go on forever because they come from Ilúvatar and He placed those melodies there for your fear to sing. Sauron tried to change the Music in you, just as his dark master before him had tried to change the entire Song. Ilúvatar allowed both attempts and incorporated them and made the Song even more beautiful than it had been before. What you are hearing now of your own Song is the full symphony He planned for you."

"But there is more to come?"

"Yes, much more. You are mortal, but there is an immortal part of you and that is what shines ever brighter. You are ever moving toward it and have been preparing for it all this time. Then will come the time when you sing your own Song in front of Ilúvatar and your voice will resound with many others in the heavens."

Frodo listened to Sam’s Music and his own, blended at times into one it seemed, but still also heard as separate melodies. Then after a while, he turned to Sam himself. I think I understand your riddle now, Sam.

He felt Sam’s love embrace him and he saw his dearest friend’s light brightly even with his eyes closed. Then he felt and saw Ilúvatar’s Presence, but as though cloaked behind a grey cloud for he knew that he was not yet able to bear the full radiance of that countenance. But it was still clearer than he had ever felt or seen it.

Is it time now, Papa? he asked.

Love filled him to overflowing and the Light shone a bit brighter. Yes, My child. Come home.

It seemed to Frodo that the Light separated into two streams, as though arms reached down to embrace him. He let go of Gandalf’s hand and raised up his arms to meet that embrace. His face grew brighter and brighter until he was shining as bright as any Elf, then his entire body grew radiant and as Olórin watched, Frodo’s fea separated from his hroa and rose to meet its Creator. He watched as Sam’s fea and then Drogo’s and Primula’s and Bilbo’s embraced it and they all faced the One. Olórin then closed his eyes for a moment to give praise and thanks to Ilúvatar for being allowed the great gift of witnessing the passing of the last Ring-bearer and one of the greatest servants the One had ever had. Frodo had come all the way through.

Olórin leaned down and kissed that dear brow. There was still a bit of fading, residual brightness lingering. "Hantanyel, Iorhael."

_______

A/N: Melinyel is I love you. Iorhaelnya is my Iorhael or so I am making it since the suffix -nya means my. I know in this pre-Incarnational time the souls of the just would have not yet entered Heaven, but I can never resist sending Frodo and Sam right there anyway. I can so easily imagine though that they would have been among the first to run to Jesus when He descended to free all the captive souls.