The Breathing Sea by StarSpray

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Chapter 4

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The rest of autumn passed in a riot of color, and with winter came just enough snow to cover the grass and delight all of the hobbit children. The first snowy evening of the season, Frodo, Sam, and Rosie spent in front of the fire with hot drinks, while Sam told Rosie about their failed attempt at crossing the Redhorn. He made it sound far less frightening than it actually was, focusing mostly on Legolas and his teasing of Gandalf, which had Rosie laughing so hard she nearly spilled her tea.

Spring came with a great deal of mud, but also with flowers and green grass and the trees all bursting into leaf and flower seemingly overnight. It brought illness and dark thoughts, but also little Elanor Gamgee, with wispy golden curls and big dark eyes. The first of many children, Frodo was sure. Bag End had been built for a large family; he supposed Bungo and Belladonna had been thinking optimistically of the Old Took's brood, rather than the smaller families typical of the Bagginses. But now at last those rooms would be filled, and Frodo was glad, even though he would not be there to see it.

He finished the book that summer, or as much as was his task to write. There were more pages to fill, but that would be left to Sam, and maybe one day even to Elanor. By Midsummer he had all of his affairs in order, and had written letters to friends abroad, in Gondor and the Lonely Mountain and Mirkwood, which he set aside to send just before he left.

His shoulder ached more often than not, and his hand started to hurt off and on—or rather, the finger he no longer had.

As the muddy season subsided, he went out on pony trips with Fatty, to visit Crickhollow and Brandy Hall, and to the Great Smials to visit their Tookish relatives. Often they were accompanied by Merry or Pippin, or sometimes Sam when he went out on his forestry errands. They were leisurely journeys, with days begun late and ended early, and always at an inn with comfortable beds and good food. Frodo visited all of his favorite haunts, one last time. Fatty noticed, of course. There was not much that Fatty Bolger missed. "Where are you going this time?" he asked as they rode slowly back through Bywater. "To live with the Elves, like Bilbo?"

"Well—yes," Frodo said. "I can't stay here, Fatty. I've tried to hide it from Sam—I don't want him to worry—but I'm not well. I was sorely wounded, more than once. The worst was at Weathertop, before we even reached Rivendell." He rubbed at his arm, which had been feeling cold and numb off and on all day. "Please don't tell Merry or Pippin," he added after a moment. "I don't want them worrying, either."

"It's a bit late for that. We were talking the other day about how you don't look well." At Frodo's grimace, he chuckled. "You are still very bad at hiding things from your friends! But if it makes you happier, I don't think Sam has noticed, but only because babies are rather distracting."

They reached Bag End just in time for dinner, and found Sam coming in from the garden with a handful of small yellow flowers. "Look, Mr. Frodo!" he exclaimed, holding them out. "They're growing down around the mallorn, and there's niphredil too!"

"What are they?" Fatty asked, peering at the flowers.

"Elanor," Frodo said, smiling. He remembered Gildor down in the Party Field on an autumn evening, looking pleased, and thought that he knew how the elf flowers had gotten there.

"Oh!" said Fatty. "Would you look at that! Elf trees and elf flowers. What next, I wonder—Elf visitors?"

"I hope so," said Sam. "I would like to see Legolas again."

.

Finally, September arrived. The harvests were good, and all of the trees turned brilliant golds and reds and oranges; the days were warm and the nights cool, perfect for traveling. Frodo organized the last of his things, and rechecked his bags. He wasn't taking much with him into the West, only what he could fit on his pony, and so he'd chosen very carefully. It was clothes, mostly, and a cookbook, and his favorite pipe, though he didn't smoke much anymore. And rolled up in his bedroll was the rag rug Aunt Dora had made, and that had lain in front of the fire in his study for such a long time.

It was easier than he'd expected, at the last, to say goodbye. He stood at the stern of the ship holding Lady Galadriel's star glass aloft until the Grey Havens faded into the shadowy evening. Elrond stood beside him, leaning on the railing. After some time they left the Gulf of Lhûn and entered the open Sea; by then it was full night, clear and moonless, and it seemed to Frodo as though they were sailing through the sky, with all of the stars reflected on the dark water. Only the gentle rocking of the ship and the sound of water lapping against its sides told them otherwise. "It's beautiful," Frodo said.

"It is," Elrond agreed. "But tell me if you feel ill. For some the movement of the water is disagreeable."

Frodo considered. "I think I'll be all right." At least, he did not think he would get seasick—but October 6th was fast approaching. He rubbed at his arm, though at the moment it felt fine. He turned away from the back of the ship and went looking for Bilbo. He found him in a cozy little cabin just below decks, fitted out perfectly for hobbits. There were two beds on either side of the room, built out of the walls. Frodo found his things tucked neatly underneath one, and Bilbo was snoring lightly in the other. Frodo covered him with an extra blanket, and went back up to the deck. He wanted to sit under the stars.

He found Gandalf sitting near the middle of the ship, underneath the mast, his pipe glowing gently in the darkness. "I hope they have pipe weed in Valinor," Frodo remarked as he sat down on the bench beside him, swinging his feet a little.

Gandalf chuckled. "Sweet galenas, I am sure they do. But I rather doubt the Valar or the Elves have cultivated anything like your Old Toby. But I thought of that, and have some seeds tucked away. Merry got them for me; he was very amused by my request, I think. And then he gave me a shockingly long lecture on how to properly grow them."

"Merry's going to write a book about it, I think," Frodo said. It had something to do with missing the opportunity to sit with the king of Rohan and talk herb lore; as far as Frodo had gathered, however, the Rohirrim didn't have much to do with books. But it was a project Merry was very excited about, and Frodo was only sorry he wouldn't get to read it.

"Yes, that's why I asked him for the seeds." Gandalf blew a smoke ring up into the air, and they watched it float up towards the sails before scattering in the breeze. "Lady Goldberry sends her greetings, by the by. She was sorry not to see you before you left."

"I would have liked to visit Lady Goldberry and Tom Bombadil," said Frodo. "But there was a great deal to do."

"Yes, I heard all about it." Gandalf sighed, and blew another smoke ring up onto the breeze. "I was quite impressed with the way you handled Saruman."

"He was killed," Frodo said. "I did not want that. Especially right on the doorstop of Bag End."

"It was not a hobbit that killed him," Gandalf said. "That is something. I'm afraid Wormtongue was too far gone for you to save." He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully before leaning back with a sigh. Before Frodo could argue he asked, "And how is your shoulder, Frodo?"

"It's all right just now," said Frodo.

"Good. I should warn you now, the novelty of sailing will fade rather quickly into monotony. Best prepare yourself."

"I don't mind monotony," said Frodo. He'd had more than enough excitement.
"You haven't spent very long at sea."

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The journey was not quite as monotonous as Gandalf had predicted. There were whales and dolphins to watch, in the distance or right up alongside their ship. Some of the mariners could speak with the dolphins, who chattered and chirped as they jumped high out of the water for the sheer joy of it. Frodo asked one mariner what the dolphins were saying, and was treated to a surprisingly detailed recounting of all the local sea life's gossip, none of which he properly understood, except that apparently dolphins knew all of it.

October 6th came with dark dreams and a great deal of pain in his shoulder and in his chest, but Elrond and Gandalf remained by his side the whole day long—out on deck, in the bright sunlight—and though it was difficult and painful, it was easier to get through the day than Frodo had expected. That evening Elrond gave him a clear liquid that tasted sweet and spread warmth through his whole body as soon as he sipped it, and Frodo slept easily and without dreams, waking late the next morning, but feeling more rested than he had in a very long time.

That day a pod of whales surfaced alongside the ship. Frodo leaned over the railing beside Elrond as one of the smaller ones—yet still bigger than any creature he had ever seen before—came up to blow a burst of air and water high into the air like a breathy fountain. Some of the mariners laughed when both Elrond and Frodo jerked back in surprise. "Those aren't even the biggest kind," one said as they watched one a little farther away breach, lifting nearly its whole body out of the water. "The great blue whales, they're bigger than anything, on land or in the sea."

"Goodness," said Frodo. "What do they eat?"

The mariner laughed again. "That's the best part! They eat the tiniest creatures in the sea, smaller than you could see, Master Frodo."

Frodo leaned over the railing again, peering into the water as it flowed swiftly past their ship. The wind was strong that day, and they were making quite good headway. Beneath the water he spotted another whale, keeping pace for a few minutes with them before dropping away, down and down into the depths of the sea.

.

When he was not learning surprising and sometimes alarming things about what lived in the water beneath them, Frodo was sitting with Bilbo, when he wasn't napping, or with Gandalf, who wanted to hear about all of what had been going on in the Shire, down to the smallest doings of the smallest hobbit child. They did not speak much of Valinor, except when Bilbo sat with them and wanted to know just which of the heroes of the old stories he was likely to meet. This question spread throughout the ship, and there was a great deal of laughter and speculating about the reaction of various princes and heroes to Master Bilbo and his songs. This came with many compliments to Bilbo on his poetry, and on his translations of old songs into the Common Speech, which in turn led to the performance of those songs by Lindir and Gildor and others. Bilbo was half embarrassed, half pleased, and then started an argument with Lindir about scansion.

"What about you, Frodo?" Gildor asked. He had settled on the deck in front of the bench where Frodo was seated between Elrond and Gandalf. "What sort of songs do you write?"

There was a crumpled bit of paper at the very bottom of Frodo's pack that held the only song he had composed after returning to the Shire. He'd found it while packing, and hadn't had the opportunity to burn it as he had the other copies, before Sam could find it; but he was certainly not going to share that with Gildor—or anyone. He shook his head. "You want Sam for composition," he said.

"There was that nice song you wrote for me after Moria," Gandalf said mildly. He was not smoking this evening, reluctantly rationing his remaining leaf.

"The exception that proves the rule," Frodo said, "and it's rather outdated now—" It was no use. Now that word was out that Frodo had in fact written a song himself, everyone called for him to perform it. Especially Gandalf, who seemed to find it extremely amusing to get to listen to a lament for himself.

The day after this impromptu evening of performances, it rained, steady and grey and cold. It continued into the night, and as evening fell Elrond called both Frodo and Bilbo up onto the deck. There was a change in the air, Frodo found as he stepped outside—a sweet fragrance came down with the rain. "Mm," Bilbo murmured, "smells like elves!"

As he spoke Frodo looked out over the bow toward the western horizon, and the rainclouds rolled back, like the silver curtain in his dream in the house of Tom Bombadil so far away and long ago, and beyond was sunshine on bright waters, and a green country glowing beneath the sunrise. He gasped, and beside him Bilbo made an exclamation of wordless delight. Elrond stood with his hand on Frodo's shoulder, and his grip tightened just slightly.

They sailed out of the rain onto a wide sea leading into a bay, where dozens of ships of all sizes floated or raced about, with sails bright as butterfly wings, manned by silver-haired mariners. The closest to them called out loud glad greetings, and on the island ahead of them came the sound of many bells chiming.

Gandalf laughed out loud, an outpouring of joy as sudden and bright as one of his fireworks. Lady Galadriel stood beside him, looking grave in her gladness; Gildor and his folk burst into song, and the mariners up in their rigging shouted and laughed. Frodo could only stand and stare, wide-eyed at legends and stories made solid—somehow more solid and more real than even the Shire. Gulls wheeled over the bay, and far above them Frodo thought he glimpsed an eagle.

As they sailed toward Avallónë, a great figure of a woman rose up out of the water, her hair streaming sea foam, her eyes bright as stars. She called out a welcome to them, reaching out her hands. Nai hiruvalyë Valimar. Nail elyë hiryva!