“Iris,” Frodo held her hands, “you saw what happened to me the last time I became ill. I am a danger to those I love. I have to leave.” He pulled back from her and looked at the nightingale. “Gandalf and Arwen said I might find healing in the Undying Lands across the Western Seas. I’ve been given permission to travel there with the Elves when they leave Middle Earth.” He turned back to her startled face. “I will not stay and endanger those I love. I will leave next autumn when Gandalf and Lord Elrond come for me. I believe Bilbo will also go with us, if he is still alive. There is no healing for me here in the Shire. I must leave, even if my in-most desire is to remain with you. I cannot stay.”
Iris shook her head in frustration, tears welling in her eyes. She walked over to the table and grabbed the birdcage, causing the nightingale to screech in distress. She strode out the back door, across the lawn and into the medical gardens. Frodo followed.
Iris sat down in the shadows under the young willow tree Sam had recently brought in from the North Farthing. She opened the latch and gathered the frightened bird to her bosom, putting the cage aside and stroking the bird into calmness. As Frodo watched, she spread her hands, releasing the songbird into the night. It fluttered away and was not heard from again.
Iris refused to see Frodo after the night of the nightingale’s release. She couldn’t deny that her heart was broken over the news that Frodo would be leaving Middle Earth for Tol Eressea within the year. It was as if she had only just found love, and now he was voluntarily abandoning her and any chance at a normal life in the Shire. Iris could not abide to see the hobbit which caused her such heartache, and refused any and all offers towards reconciliation made in the days following. She vowed she would not play the fool.
This rejection disturbed Frodo more than he cared to admit even to himself. In unconscious retaliation, he retreated to Bag End, drowning his sorrows in unrelenting work on writing down the history of the Great War. Sam and Rose couldn’t help but notice his hermit-like self-imposed seclusion and the fact that Iris no longer came over to Bag End.
“What’s wrong with Mister Frodo?” Rose asked as she rolled out cookie dough and cut it into little star shapes. “Did he and Miss Iris have a fight?”
“I dunno exactly, love,” Sam replied. “He hasn’t told me nothin’ about it. He’s sent letters to Hobbiton and beyond, and has received some things from there and from the dwarves in the Blue Mountains. But he hasn’t actually gone down to Hobbiton to visit in person. Last time I asked him to go into town he snapped at me like I asked him to jump in a pile of manure. Something is really eatin’ away at him, that’s for sure. He’s becoming a recluse again.”
“Well, you know the doctor and he were goin’ out almost daily for their walks,” Rose continued, “and they haven’t done that for several days now. In fact, I can’t rightly tell you when the last time it was Mister Frodo invited her over here. I think he’s broken up with her and he hasn’t told anyone.” She laid the cookies onto a sheet and popped them into the oven, taking out another one filled with circle and bell-shaped cookies.
“It’s no good for his health, I can tell you that,” Sam said, closing his eyes and deeply inhaling the wonderful aroma of fresh butter cookies. “He does better when he goes out on those walks with her. Now he sits in ole Master Bilbo’s study and scribbles away in his book all the time, getting more pale and thin by the day.” Sam snatched a bit of cookie dough and plopped it into his mouth as Rose moved the hot cookies onto a rack to cool.
Rose stopped her cookie-making. “You’re his best friend. I’m sure deep down inside he’s dying to tell somebody what happened. I think you aught to talk to him.”
Sam looked a bit dubious as he licked his dough-enveloped fingers. “I’ll try, love,” Sam sighed, “but there’s no predicting’ if he’ll tell me anything. He can be like a clam sometimes. Once he makes up his mind about closing’ up, it’s right hard to crack open that shell. I might have to get ‘im really steamed up before he slips and lets out what’s botherin’ him. That will make livin’ with him mighty hard for the next day or so.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Rose smiled. She arrested his hand before Sam could pinch off another section of dough. He chuckled and kissed the light of his life.
Sam took a deep breath, wrapped a handful of warm cookies in a napkin, and wandered into Frodo’s study. As expected, he found Frodo deeply involved in writing out a section of his book. Sam cleared his throat to get Frodo’s attention. Frodo raised his left hand without looking up, and completed inking and blotting his sentence before putting down his quill and turning to Sam.
“Hello, Sam. Have a seat,” he smiled, gesturing for his housemate to sit down. “What is on your mind?” Frodo turned his chair around as Sam sat on the easy chair by the fireplace. The way Sam was perched on it, it could have been called an ‘uneasy’ chair. Sam offered a cookie to Frodo, who politely refused.
“Well, you know, Mister Frodo, as me Gaffer’s always saying’, I’m not one for goin’ the long way round when a shortcut is nearby,” Sam nervously started. He set the cookies down on a nearby table.
That got Frodo’s attention. Anytime Sam voluntarily put away food was a cause for worry.
“What I mean is, um …” Sam continued, “well, I can’t help but just blurt it out, and I hope you don’t take offense or nothin, seeing’ as it’s purely none of my business, as me Gaffer would say. And he’s one fer givin’ out lots of good advice. But, well sir, to put it bluntly sir, why haven’t we seen Miss Proudfoot ‘round here any more? Did you and she have a fight or something?”
Frodo’s eyebrows disappeared into his dark curly bangs. “You are right, Sam,” Frodo frowned, “it is none of your business.” The last thing Frodo wanted was for Sam to learn of his secret about leaving Middle Earth. This was not the time to be discussing his predicament.
“Well, whatever it is you’re not telling me, it’s probably not fair to Miss Iris,” Sam blurted out. He knew what he just said was unfair to Frodo, but Sam needed to prod his best friend into telling the truth. And nothing got under Frodo’s skin more than being accused of an unkindness.
Sam’s tactic was working. Frodo was clearly upset. He grabbed the quill and pointed it at Sam as if he were lecturing a recalcitrant Brandybuck tweenager. “Samwise Gamgee. It is not very polite to be poking your nose into my private life, even if we are roommates. I do not interfere when you and Rose have an argument, and I expect you to respect my privacy as well as I do yours.” Black ink spattered onto his tan-colored breeches. Frodo grimaced and grabbed a nearby rag to blot up the stains.
“So, you two did get into a fight,” Sam was triumphant. “Look Mister Frodo, I don’t mean to be rude, but we can’t help but read each other’s emotions when we all live under the same roof. And you’ve not been yourself for the past week or so. I think it might help if you talked about it some.”
Frodo threw the ink-stained rag under his desk and turned his chair back around to face away from his well-meaning inquisitor. “Sam, please drop this topic. I do not feel like discussing it right now.” He jammed the offending quill into an inkwell and shuffled a stack of papers on the desk, trying his best to ignore Sam.
“I will not drop it.” Sam rose out of his chair and walked over to Frodo. He knelt at Frodo’s side and forced the elder hobbit to look at him by turning the chair and Frodo, back around. “Me and Rose see how happy you are when you’re with Miss Iris. Stars! You were even taking her flowers and beginning to court her. Now you spend all your time in here with your writing; never going out; never talkin’ to anyone. You’re retreating back into yourself again, like you did when we first returned to the Shire. What changed the good you and Miss Iris had, Mister Frodo?” Sam gently placed his callused hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “You and me have been to Mordor and back. Sir … you can talk to me.”
Sam could be so persistent some times. This was one of those times.
Frodo knew he wouldn’t be rid of Sam without an explanation. Frodo crumpled the paper in his hands and sighed, then threw the trash into the fire. “I guess I inadvertently changed our relationship. I said something which upset her terribly, and I cannot take it back.” Sam sat down on the rug at Frodo’s feet, awaiting more details.
“Sam, I do not know what to do,” Frodo looked off into the air above the fireplace, then out the window. “I feel as if I am two different persons sometimes. Sometimes I feel fine and confident and somewhat happy; almost like how it was before the Quest. But sometimes I feel as if a part of me is missing. It is like I have lost a part of myself and do not know which way to turn or how to even begin to find it again. Or if I do find it, could I live with myself knowing what that knowledge could reveal? There are things buried in my mind which should never be uttered for fear of bringing the evil back into the world.”
Frodo looked at Sam sitting so patiently cross-legged on the rug. Sam would listen for hours, if necessary. Sam had literally carried Frodo through the worst moments of his life. How could he tell this gentle, hopeful soul that he was leaving Middle Earth forever? Sam had saved his life – and to what avail? There was no solace. No comfort. No peace. And with Iris’s rejection, Frodo’s last glimmer of hope for healing in the Shire withered into bitter ashes. The worst was, he knew he had brought it upon himself. He should have never told her. He was resolved he would not make the same mistake with Sam.
A look of infinite sadness crossed his face. “The stress of carrying the Ring wounded me on the inside, Sam, and I do not think I shall ever recover,” Frodo continued. “I know I am a danger to others. I should not be here right now. And I do not want to expose you or Rose and the baby, or Iris or, well, anyone to what I still carry trapped in my mind.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, but thoughts inside your head are not contagious like a cold or the measles,” Sam spoke up.
“No, but what happens as a result of my memories are just as devastating for those around me,” Frodo countered, turning away from the window and looking directly into Sam’s upturned honest face. “You have seen how sometimes my anger and emotions spill out. Especially when I am experiencing a recurrence of my wounding. I watch myself loose control, and that frightens me more than facing a balrog. I am afraid of myself. Oh Sam, I desperately want to lead a normal life again, like you, but I find I cannot. My innocence has been stripped from me and I fear I shall never find that comfort again.”
Sam shook his head and patted Frodo reassuringly on the knee. “You can find comfort again. You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been, and now it’s getting worse cause you won’t talk to no one no more about it. You’re the strongest, finest, bravest person I know. You’re even smarter than Master Bilbo. But even you can’t keep that stuff locked up inside your head without hurting yourself even more. And you know it. When you and Miss Iris were taking your strolls, you were getting better. I could see it. Rose could see it. I wish you would start going to the Doc again. She helps you get little pieces of that mess in your mind out into the fresh air so you can deal with it better. Please, Mister Frodo, it’s truly none of my business what came between you and her, but for your own peace, you’ve got to go back to her.”
“Sam, I disappointed her. Now I do not know how to restart our friendship.” Frodo looked dejected. “I do not have much experience in affairs with the fairer sex, and must confess that I simply do not know what to do. I have tried to talk with her, but she refuses to see me.”
“Well, flowers always work for me,” Sam said, trying to be helpful.
Frodo smiled at Sam’s innocent statement. Could it ever be that simple? Would anything ever be that simple anymore? “I think it is going to take more than flowers for this one, Sam, but thank you for the suggestion.” He turned back to his desk. The subject was closed.
“Whether you two ever get back together as a couple is really a moot point, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Sam continued as he stood up. “You need her as a physician too. She can’t very well refuse to see you for a medical ailment.”
“Sam, I am fine,” Frodo protested. Sam was beginning to annoy him now with his persistence.
“No, you’re not fine,” Sam countered. “You need to restart those walks with her and you know it.” He knew he was overstepping the unspoken bounds of their friendship by ordering Frodo around, but he had to try something.
“Sam, this conversation is useless,” Frodo frowned and turned back a second time towards his desk. “I will consult with my physician when I think I need to and not before. Now please leave me alone so I can get some work done.”
Sam knew he had lost the final argument. The walls were crashing down around Frodo again. But there was hope. At least he had gotten Frodo to admit that he and Iris had had an argument, and it was up to Frodo to repair the hurt inflicted upon their relationship. Now if only Frodo would DO something about it. Sam left the cookies and exited the room.
Ch. 2: Consulting Physician
Ch. 3: The Blacksmith
Ch. 4: Plans
Ch. 5: Party Invitations
Ch. 6: The Wedding Party
Ch. 7: Safe Harbor
Ch. 8: Rivendell Messages
Ch. 9: The Gondor Connection
Ch. 10: The King's Reply
Ch. 11: The Frozen Waterfall
Ch. 12: Good news/Bad news
Ch. 13: A Knife in the Daylight
Ch. 14: Raven Hair
Ch. 15: Sam's Turn
Ch. 16: The Journey Begins
Ch. 17: Poetry in Motion
Ch. 18: Conversations in the Firelight
Ch. 19: The Road to Rivendell
Ch. 20: Descent into Madness
Ch. 21: Welcome Back, Frodo Baggins
Ch. 22: Joined Unto Me
Ch. 23: Wedding Night
Ch. 24: Living Arrangements
Ch. 25: Wanderlust
Ch. 26: The Song of Sauron
Ch. 27: Of Herbs and a Sword
Ch. 28: Ghost Laid to Rest
Ch. 29: Evening of Light
Ch. 30: Epilogue