Chapter 56. Thoughts of the Future

Frodo awakened the next morning feeling more like himself. He’d suffered no dark dreams in the night, had slept peacefully, as a matter of fact, which he had not expected. His fingers caressed Arwen’s gift. He thought about Strider—Elessar now, King in Gondor. Perhaps he’d make a trip to Gondor one of these days... a holiday excursion. He laughed aloud; the farthest a hobbit of Bywater might go on holiday was to Southfarthing for the new wine celebration, and that was considered a great journey! Yes, Frodo decided, as soon as he finished writing the history of hobbits in the War of the Ring, he’d go to Gondor. Perhaps he’d invite Pip to come along, get the lad out from under his father’s thumb for another year or two. Merry was growing stronger, he thought, and if he could not come along, yet he might be able to spare Pippin. The tween was not so angry as he had been, but could use more distance from Paladin, in Frodo's opinion.

He stretched luxuriously, feeling none of the stiffness of the day before. These anniversaries were difficult, he mused, but they were getting better, or he was stronger, better able to fight. Soft bedding, regular meals, fresh air and exercise, and keeping busy—all these were helping him keep the darkness at bay. It helped to have Sam and Rosie living with him. The two of them were invariably singing or laughing; Rosie danced through the days. She wasn’t doing quite as much dancing these days, but of course, in a few months a babe would grace Bag End with new life and new hope.

At second breakfast, Freddy fixed Frodo with a piercing gaze. ‘How are you, cousin?’ he asked.

Frodo laughed. ‘I might ask you the same!’ he said. ‘It’s a marvellous day!’ He laughed again at Freddy’s expression. Rain had arrived in the night, and the out-of-doors was dripping in the mist of a grey dawn.

’Either you’re better than you were yesterday, or you’ve lost your wits,’ Freddy said acerbically, pouring cream over his baked apple. He held his spoon in the air, stopping to inhale the fragrance of apples and cinnamon. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That Samwise is a wonder. Squashes overlarge arachnids and bakes apples to perfection.’

’Ah you’ve got to Shelob in the notes, then,’ Frodo said, pouring cream over his own apple and digging in with his spoon.

’Mmmm,’ Freddy said, both in appreciation of the apple and answer to the question. After washing down the morsel with a swig of tea, he repeated his first question. ‘How are you, Frodo?’

’I am well,’ Frodo said, his attention on his breakfast. Something about the quality of Freddy’s silence struck him and he looked up to see his cousin looking stern.

’You’ve never been able to lie convincingly, cousin, so do not start now,’ Freddy said severely, wagging his spoon at Frodo.

’All right, then, I’m better,’ Frodo said. ‘Does that suit?’ He took another bite and said through a mouthful. ‘I was a little “off” the other day, but it’s passed. But I might ask the same. You look a bit tired this morning, Freddy. How are you?’

’Well enough,’ Freddy said. He had relaxed again, Frodo saw, and the two cousins made pleasant conversation for the rest of the meal.

Sitting down at his desk after sharing midday dinner with Freddy, Frodo noticed that his papers were not in the same order as he’d left them. He made a mental note to mention it to Samwise. Rosie knew better than to disturb his desk when she dusted the study, but young Daisy Stubbletoes wouldn’t know unless she’d been specifically instructed.

What should he do this day? Copy the rewritten material into the Red Book, or tackle something new? His eye was caught by the description of Cormallen he’d written out when fighting off the darkness; reading it over, he crumpled the paper and tossed it towards the large waste-paper basket in the corner. He could do better than that. Taking out a fresh sheet, he dipped his pen and was soon lost in the memory of deafening cheers and the echoes of Praise them with great praise!

The writing went so well that by the time Samwise came in with his tea, Frodo had filled several sheets and greeted the gardener cheerfully. ‘Stop, Samwise, and read these over,’ he said. ‘You don’t think I’ve over-exaggerated things, do you?’

Sam sat down obediently and took up the papers while Frodo sipped his tea and slathered butter and marmalade on the accompanying crumpets. He read slowly, a furrow in his brow as he concentrated. Frodo had finished his meal and wiped his fingers; actually, he had just poured out a third cup of tea when Sam put the papers down and sighed.

’Well?’ Frodo asked.

’Not exaggerated at all, Mr Frodo,’ Sam said with a smile. ‘Rather understated, in my opinion.’ He shook his head with a grin. ‘Those Men! I thought I’d go deaf from the shouting and cheering—they made a thunder with their voices. And the swords, glittering in the light of the Sun, the bright colours of the banners, the shining armour...’

’It went on forever, or seemed to,’ Frodo said, his eyes faraway. ‘And Strider, looking so... kingly’s the only word I can think of, but it’s not enough of a word to describe him.’

’And the feast!’ Sam said. ‘And to think we hobbits pride ourselves on our vittles! Never have I eaten such fare as we had that day.’ He grew thoughtful. ‘Still,’ he said practically. ‘One couldn’t eat that way every day, or there’d be no wonder to look back on.’

’No indeed!’ Frodo laughed, and sipped his tea as Sam went back to reading.

’You ought to put in the part about Gimli and the hobbit’s foot,’ Sam said suddenly. ‘Young Mr Pippin would have been lost that day, had Gimli not known the look of a hobbit’s foot, as he said himself.’

’You’re right, Sam,’ Frodo said, taking that page back and making a note in the margin. ‘Is there anything else?’ he asked.

Sam looked through the papers again and shook his head. ‘No Mr Frodo, you’ve done a remarkable job of capturing it on paper. I never could.’

’Don’t sell yourself short, Sam. I’ve heard you spinning tales for Rosie about the Golden Wood and the White City.’ Frodo put his cup down and pulled his chair back to the desk. ‘Thank you, Sam! Delicious crumpets—as good as Rosie's!’

’Rosie made them,’ Sam said, picking up the tray. ‘She feels a bit better this time of day, and if she cooks up something for teatime it keeps her from fretting about the work she’s not doing.’

’Ah then, give her my compliments,’ Frodo said. He was already writing again, and Sam quietly let himself out of the study without further comment.

Freddy was not at the noontide meal the next day when Frodo returned from his ride on brown Strider. At his questioning look, Sam said, ‘He said he had something to do, Mr Frodo, and asked me to make up some bread and cheese and save him a plate of stew for later.’

’Something to do?’ Frodo said, but Sam couldn’t tell him any more than that.

Entering the study after the meal, he stopped short to see his cousin sitting at the desk. ‘Freddy?’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’

Freddy looked up. ‘Ah Frodo,’ he said. ‘Is dinner over already? Come in.’

Frodo crossed to sit in the chair beside the desk, bemused at being invited into his own study.

Freddy said, ‘It’s taken me some time to find what I was looking for—I assume you burned the notes I went over when you copied the material into the Red Book.’

’Yes, there’s less confusion that way,’ Frodo said. ‘Once I don’t need the notes anymore I destroy them.’

’Ah,’ Freddy said, opening the Red Book to a page he’d marked. He began to read. “ ‘I should say,’ answered Strider, ‘that they stood for G3, and were a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days ago now.’ ” ’ He looked up to catch Frodo’s eye. ‘That was two years ago,’ he said.

Frodo nodded, wondering where Freddy was going with this.

’I asked Samwise if you were ill on October the sixth, the last,’ Freddy said. ‘He had to think back, but remembered at last that you crossed the Ford of Bruinen that day, on your return journey, and that you admitted to Gandalf that you were in pain.’

’Sam heard that?’ Frodo said in astonishment. ‘That was a private conversation.’

’It is why he made such an excellent spy,’ Freddy said with a faint smile. ‘He has the hearing of a bat.’ He straightened. ‘When I read the notes on Shelob, I began to understand.’

’Understand what?’ Frodo said.

’You were ill this past March, on the thirteenth to be exact,’ Freddy said, putting his fingertips together and tapping his lips.

’Let us be exact,’ Frodo said dryly.

Freddy put his hands down on the desk and leaned forward. ‘You encountered Shelob on that date, a year previously.’ He paused to scrutinise Frodo. ‘What is it about anniversaries?’

Frodo nodded. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said slowly. ‘There is some power to dates. Why do we celebrate Yule? And Lithe? And birthdays?’

’Don’t change the subject,’ Freddy said.

’I’m not,’ Frodo answered. ‘There is some power to anniversaries. Ah, Freddy, you know how you must fight the Voice of Saruman, how he haunts your thoughts though he’s been dead for nearly a year now.’

’Yes,’ Freddy said soberly. ‘This is true.’

’I have much the same struggle with my own dark memories,’ Frodo said. ‘They are like dogs, always sniffing at my heels.’ This was not something he’d tell anyone else—he had told only Merry, who had his own continuing fight—but he thought Freddy of all hobbits would understand.

’Yes,’ Freddy said.

’But I’m getting stronger,’ Frodo went on. ‘This year was better than last. I won’t say it was easier—but I’m stronger than I was. I expect that when the thirteenth of March rolls around once more, I will not be as affected as I was this year.’

’Each year a little better?’ Freddy said.

’Better than each year being a little worse, wouldn’t you say?’ Frodo answered lightly.

’The darkness is still there, this very day, but you are able to fight it,’ Freddy said, more statement than question.

’Saruman’s Voice is still there, whispering, but you are able to ignore it,’ Frodo countered.

Freddy gave him a long look, then rose from the desk. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will not fear for you, cousin. You seem to have the fight well in hand.’

’My thanks,’ Frodo said dryly.

’Don’t mention it,’ Freddy said. ‘I must return to Bridgefields next week.’

’Bridgefields!’ Frodo said. ‘But—‘

Freddy put up a hand to stop him. ‘I won’t be staying at Budge Hall,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t know if I will ever darken its door again. My father has built a new hole for me, not far from the Hall. The hole is new, the furnishings are new, there is nothing to remind me of “home”.’

’But—‘ Frodo said again.

’I will spend a week there, then travel to Buckland with the Brandybucks, who are at present visiting my parents,’ Freddy continued. ‘If the Brandybucks see a terrible change, I will have to resign myself to living in exile from my family and home for the rest of my life.’

’Freddy,’ Frodo began.

’I have plenty of relations to fall back on,’ Freddy said firmly. ‘The Tooks of the Great Smials, the Boffins in Waymeet, the Travellers at Crickhollow—marvellous parties, I hear—the Brandybucks at Brandy Hall...’

’The Bagginses of Bag End,’ Frodo said.

’Why yes, Bag End, I’d nearly forgotten,’ Freddy said. ‘D’you suppose old cousin Frodo would allow me to sponge off him for a time?’

’I’d say there’s an excellent chance,’ Frodo said with a smile.