The Breathing Sea by StarSpray

Chapter 3

Frodo had begun to feel, in the days leading up to the Free Fair, that perhaps he was getting better after all. It was as glorious a summer as anyone could ask for, and he had been making good progress in his book, and taking walking trips about Hobbiton and Bywater, revisiting his favorite haunts, some of them much changed now, others still the same as they had always been.

But afterward he started having troubled dreams again—most of them featured the sea, but all of them left him feeling cold and listless, and often with a headache. Two days after returning from Michel Delving, Frodo retreated to the Party Field early in the morning, when mist still clung to the fields like a silver veil, and pooled over the Water. It was a cool morning, but refreshingly so, and Frodo settled himself on the increasingly mossy stump of the old Party Tree to watch the sky brighten and the mists burn away. In a nearby field a cow lowed, and sheep were baaing contentedly in another, their bells clanking gently. Frodo tugged his cloak more tightly around himself. His shoulder ached faintly; those days of cold and damp and fear between Weathertop and the Ford of Bruinen were weighing heavily on his mind, as they sometimes did, and as the sun brightened and burned away the mists it was with relief that Frodo perceived the lush greens of the fields, and the yellow lights in the windows of Hobbiton, and the ever-increasing blue of the sky. At his feet bloomed little buttercups and dandelions, and on a nearby fencepost perched a robin, singing merrily as its breast flashed ruby-red in the dawn.

His worst dreams were the ones in which he was trapped in the wraith-world, succumbed to the Witch-king's knife.

As though it could tell the direction of his thoughts, the mallorn tree swayed a little, leaves rustling even though there was no breeze. And a moment later a handful of children came running through the field, cutting through it on their way to the Water for fishing. Their fishing rods swayed with each step, and clacked together when they halted upon seeing Frodo. He couldn't help but smile at their sheepish looks. "Good morning!" he said.

"Good morning, Mister Frodo," said one of the children, a little girl with unruly dark curls. "What are you doing sitting there?"

"Oh, just watching the morning come up," said Frodo. "The Shire is quite beautiful today." At this the children looked around, standing on their toes, as though they'd never even thought to stop and look around them, or thought that the Shire was something worth stopping and looking at. Of course, Frodo thought with a pang, he'd never thought much about it either, until he'd had to leave. "A good morning for fishing, too," he added.

The children brightened at this and nodded, apparently relieved that they were in no trouble for using the Party Field as a shortcut. They bid Frodo another good morning and trotted off, except for the smallest, who stood shuffling her feet and looking from Frodo to the mallorn tree. "My cousin said Mister Pippin told him an elf queen gave that tree to Master Sam," she said, "because he's the bestest gardener in the whole Shire. Is that really true, Mister Frodo?"

Frodo chuckled. "Yes, it's true."

"Did she give you a gift, too?"

"Ruby!" one of the other children called. "Come on!"

"Yes, she did," Frodo said. "But go on, now. Those fish won't catch themselves."

As Ruby raced to catch up with her companions—Frodo thought they were siblings, but couldn't be quite sure—he turned so that he was facing Bag End. Its grassy walls and roof seemed to glow like an emerald in the sun, and the sunflowers Rosie had planted near the kitchen window bobbed their heads in the breeze that picked up to scatter the remaining vestiges of the morning's mist. He stopped to look at it for a while. It looked the same as it always had, or nearly so. Frodo rubbed at his arm, and wished that he could write to or go to visit his Aunt Dora. He loved Bilbo, but for practical advice, or even just someone to listen as he teased out a problem for himself, there was no match for Dora Baggins. He did not think he would have told her about Queen Arwen's words, or Master Elrond's—she would have thought, as any sensible hobbit would, that sailing into the West was an absurd notion for anyone but elves—but she had been exceedingly practical, a comforting counterweight to Bilbo's poetry and eccentricity, and talking to her about anything, even just the weather, would have been exceedingly comforting.

He went back to Bag End, where Rosie was putting together breakfast. She greeted him cheerfully and put him to work kneading dough for bread as she pulled the first couple of loaves out of the oven. The kitchen was filled with the smells of bread and working yeast, and with Rosie's cheerful chatter, as she passed on the latest Hobbiton gossip, and shared her plans for turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery. Sam had left already, and would be gone for the next few days as he tended to parts of the South Farthing that were not flourishing as well as had been hoped.

After breakfast Frodo went to his study, but realized as he began to assemble his notes for the next chapter that it concerned the aftermath of the breaking of the Fellowship, and Boromir's death. The Fellowship had spent a long time together sitting in Minas Tirith beside the White Tree, in the days before Arwen's coming to the city, and they had talked of many things, Boromir not least. Aragorn and Legolas had sung their lament, so that Frodo could take down the words, and they had drawn an audience, after which the song had spread quickly throughout the city. No doubt it was known throughout Gondor by now.

Frodo wondered where Legolas was, with his quick laughter and boundless cheerfulness. Perhaps he was still wandering through Fangorn, or maybe he and Gimli had made their way by now north to Mirkwood or the Lonely Mountain. He had received letters from Glóin, talking of the rebuilding efforts and asking after the Shire and after Frodo himself; he had not mentioned Moria or Balin, and so Frodo had also avoided those things in his replies—that was news for Gimli to tell in person, not to learn from a paragraph in a hobbit's letter.

He stared out of the west window for a while, before shaking himself and setting to work.

.

He made steady progress as summer waned and autumn began to peek around the corner. September brought golden leaves and a quiet Birthday Party, with a dinner just for the Travelers—and the Gaffer and Rosie, of course, as well as Merry and Pippin's parents. It was a pleasant evening, full of cheer and good food and drink. With Rosie and Sam expecting, in addition to Frodo and Bilbo's birthday, there were a great many toasts, and Merry and Pippin had to carry Paladin to bed when it got late.

But September swiftly slipped into October, and with October came the second anniversary of that dark night under Weathertop. Frodo's shoulder ached fiercely, and his arm felt cold and numb down to the fingertips, and he couldn't muster the energy to do anything but sit by the hearth and stare out the window. It was a rainy day, as well, the world outside turned flat and grey, distorted by the drops running down the glass.

Afterward he only vaguely remembered Sam coming in. He'd said something—more truth than he had wanted Sam to know—but by the next morning he felt much better, able to at least appear to be his old self. But that year had been worse than the one before.

He made his way down to the Party Field at evening. The mallorn tree was quite tall by then, lithe and graceful as a dance when it swayed in the breeze. Its leaves were bright gold, just as the whole forest of Lothlórien had been when the Fellowship had come to it. To Frodo's surprise, as he neared the tree he saw someone standing in the growing shadows just beyond it. He didn't stop until he reached the tree, and laid a hand on its trunk as he said, "Hello?"

"Well met, Ringbearer!" It was Gildor Inglorion. He stepped forward and bowed; it seemed to Frodo that he bowed to him and to the tree. "How wonderful to see a mallorn growing in the fair Shire!"

"What brings you to Hobbiton?" Frodo asked.

"I bear a message from Master Elrond. A belated happy birthday, and a suggestion, if you so desire, you make your way toward the Woody End to celebrate next year." Gildor smiled, eyes alight. "I will be there also."

Frodo nodded. "I will come," he said. "Thank you."

Gildor bowed again, and melted away into the evening. After a few minutes Frodo heard the unmistakable sound of Elven voices singing away in the distance. He looked west, where Eärendil's star shone brightly over the horizon.