The Breathing Sea by StarSpray

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Chapter 1

The quotation at the beginning is from "The Scouring of the Shire" chapter in The Return of the King. The title of this fic comes from Vienna Teng's "The Breaking Light".

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Saruman rose to his feet, and stared at Frodo. There was a strange look in his eyes of mingled wonder and respect and hatred. "You have grown, Halfling," he said. "Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you! Well, I go and I will trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell."

Frodo sat back, massaging his hand, especially the scar where his finger once was, and reread the passage again. He was not worried here about getting the details right: he would not forget Saruman's final moments as long as he lived.

He looked around the sunlit study, at the gleaming wood panels and the smooth new floors, and the old rug Aunt Dora had made as a birthday gift the year after Frodo had come to live in Hobbiton, that had escaped destruction by way of Crickhollow. The windows were open, looking out into the garden that was lush and green and filled with flowers.

It was a very different scene than the one that had greeted them upon coming back, but the image of Bag End turned into Mordor in miniature had stuck in Frodo's mind and he could not get it out. He dreamed at night of wandering through it, calling for his friends and hearing only the cackling of orcs, always just in the other room, or else of tearing through it in search of the Ring, panic rising in his throat so that he woke drenched in sweat and nearly choking on it.

At least on this sunny afternoon there were flowers outside and a sweet breeze to chase away the dark memories, and nightingales singing in the hedges, and none of the duties of Deputy Mayor pressing on him, at least for the moment. Rosie would be coming with Mrs. Cotton later to sit in the parlor with Sam's sisters to finish last-minute wedding planning. Frodo set aside his pen, turning his thoughts from fallen wizards' prophecies to the seed cake he intended to have ready for the ladies when they arrived.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam called suddenly, bursting into Bag End from the garden. "Mister Frodo, come quick!"

Frodo got to his feet as Sam reached the study door, out of breath and and red-faced—but not distressed, as Frodo had at first feared. "Come and see, Mister Frodo!" he panted.

"Come and see what, Sam?" Frodo asked. He pressed a hand to his racing heart.

"It's that seed—that little silver-grey nut that the Lady gave me! It's growing—and growing faster'n any tree I ever saw, but then so have all the other saplings I planted last autumn, with that dust of hers, and—"

"All right, I'm coming." Frodo followed Sam outside into the fresh spring day—not warm, but not chilled either—and through the garden, past the violets and daffodils bobbing their heads as they went by, and down to the Party Field. The Party Tree had been turned to timber, much of it used now for flooring and paneling in Bag End, and the rest for furnishings in the new-dug holes along New Row. Its stump remained, grass growing up around it, and moss creeping around the old roots.

Several feet away stood a new sapling, slender and silver-barked, with a crown of bright golden flowers. Sam stood beside it and just pointed, a look of wonder on his face, like when they had met Gildor near the Woody End, or when they had first beheld Cerin Amroth, or Lady Galadriel herself.

"It's a mallorn tree," Frodo said. He had more than half suspected, but it was a great delight to find that he had been right. "A little bit of Lórien here in the Shire."

"Oh, isn't it marvelous, Mister Frodo!" Sam burst out. "It wasn't here the other day when I came out to take a peek, except as just a little shoot, and now today it's near a foot tall!"

"If it continues to grow, perhaps you can be married beneath it," said Frodo.

"Well that'll be up to Rosie, really…"

.

As it turned out, the tree was tall enough by then—just barely—and everyone who attended the wedding left the celebrations with small golden petals caught in their hair. Folk came from all over the Shire to see and marvel at the elven-tree, and it wasn't long before they were telling stories saying that the seed had been given to Sam Gamgee far away over the mountains by an elven-queen with living flowers twined in her hair and stars caught in rings on her fingers.

By the time Sam and Rosie were married at the beginning of May, Frodo had very little to do as Deputy Mayor. The Shirriffs and the postal service were restored to their former numbers and functions, and largely managed themselves, and until the Free Fair there were no large parties or Banquets that he was needed to preside over, much to his relief, so he was able to stop making regular trips to Michel Delving, and stayed home instead to organize his notes for the book.

Merry and Pippin visited often that spring and summer. They claimed it was for Rosie's cakes, but they spent much of the time in the study with Frodo, all of them discussing the journey, and Merry and Pippin's adventures in Rohan and Minas Tirith. More often than not they took their long conversations out to the Party Field, spreading a picnic blanket out between the old Party Tree's stump and the new mallorn, with its silver-green leaves and tendency to sway gently in the breeze, like it was dancing.

They were discussing Lórien, and the Falls of Nimrodel, when a call went up from the lane, and a minute later they were joined by Fredegar Bolger and Folco Boffin. "Hullo, Frodo!"

"Fatty!" Pippin exclaimed. "Or must we call you something else now?"

"Hullo, Folco!" said Merry.

"Hullo, Merry and Pippin!" Folco sat down between Pippin and Frodo, while Fatty sank down beside Merry and picked up a scone. "Gracious, what's all this?" Folco picked up one of the papers Frodo had been referencing. "Is this another one of old Bilbo's songs?"

"No," said Merry. "It's an old Elvish song. A friend of ours sang it for us on our journey."

"Or part of it, at any rate," said Pippin. "He forgot the rest halfway through! I think it's because it's a rather sad song. Legolas doesn't much go in for that sort of thing. Do you remember Caradhras, he was making jokes? I thought old Gandalf would set him on fire!"

This led to them telling Fatty and Folco all about the Caradhras episode. Fatty was shaking his head by the end of it. "I'm more glad than ever I didn't go with you," he said. "Even with the Black Riders and the ruffians. Better plain ruffians than angry mountains!"

"I'm still annoyed with you two," Folco said to Merry and Pippin. "Leaving me out of your conspiracy! I could have at least stayed with Fatty at Crickhollow."

"What did happen at Crickhollow after we left, Fatty?" Pippin asked. "You mentioned it once before, but you've never told us the whole story."

"You should tell us now, so Frodo can put it in the book!" Merry added.

Fatty couldn't refuse that, although he told the story with great reluctance and a good deal of shivering and shuddering. And then Folco wanted to know what exactly the Black Riders were, because they did not sound like normal Big Folk to him, even like ruffians.

"They were Men once," Frodo said after a long pause, in which he and Merry and Pippin looked at each other, all of them remembering the darkness in the dell beneath Weathertop. It was a bright and warm day in June, but Frodo fancied that he felt a creeping cold down his arm. "Kings, I think, most of them at least. The Enemy ensnared them using Rings of Power, and they wore them for so long that they just sort of…faded out of the real world. They were called Ringwraiths." Folco shivered. "But—and I don't know why—it seems they were at a disadvantage here, in the Shire. Farmer Maggot could not have slammed the door in one's face were he in Gondor."

Merry laughed, suddenly. "I had forgotten about that! And Gaffer Gamgee, too, told one off. But they had power enough. You felt it, Fatty. Only they expected you to freeze up, like a rabbit in a trap, not to run and get help. That threw them off their game a bit."

"Did you meet them again on your travels, then?" Folco asked.

It was Merry's turn to shudder. He rubbed at his own arm, gaze going distant. "We did," said Pippin, glancing at Merry. "But they were all destroyed when the One Ring went into the fire."

Fatty looked at Frodo. "I hope you'll let us read your book when you're done," he said. "I would have liked to take a look at old Bilbo's."

"It is Bilbo's," said Frodo. "I'm only adding to it." He gathered up the scraps of paper. "I haven't written much yet," he added, "as there is so much to put in order first. If you would like to read Bilbo's story, the book is in my study."

Merry and Pippin got up with Folco to show him where it was, and to fetch extra plates and cups so Fatty could join their picnic properly. When they were gone, Fatty looked at the mallorn tree, and then at Frodo. "Are you all right, Frodo?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," said Frodo. "Sam and Rosie are taking good care of me. I daresay there isn't a hobbit in the Shire better looked after."

Fatty chuckled. "I could say the same for myself," he said. "One couldn't ask for a better sister than Estella. When she isn't making eyes at Merry, anyway." Frodo looked up, startled. "If you went out more often you might hear more gossip!" Fatty laughed. "Although I've noticed that you're left out of it, more often than not. When folk talk about the Travelers they mean Merry and Pippin and Sam Gamgee. It seems quite wrong, when they only left for your sake."

"I think the gossips have had more than their fill of me," said Frodo. "I don't mind in the least dropping out of notice. Once I give Will back the mayorship at the Free Fair, I'm going to lock myself in my study until this book is done."

"What's the hurry?" Fatty asked. "Bilbo took years to write his adventures down. You may not live to be quite as old as him, but you have more than enough time for writing."

Frodo rubbed at the white jewel Queen Arwen had given him, and thought of Master Elrond and autumn leaves. "I would rather have it done sooner than later, that's all," he said. Then he smiled at Fatty. "That way no one will complain about not being able to read it!"

Fatty only looked at him keenly, before Pippin came sauntering back to say that Rosie was wanting help in the kitchen, since there were more guests than expected for supper.