Once outside the Green Dragon Inn, Frodo tucked his pipe into an inside coat pocket, then offered his arm to Iris. She accepted and they strolled arm-in-arm down past the Hobbiton shops, going round to the medical gardens and private entrance in back of her building. Music and laughter from the wedding party wafted past on the crisp night air. They stopped and stood under the young dormant willow tree in the center of the garden, surrounded by the rustling leaves and dry twigs of dying herbs and bushes. The herb garden was undergoing its first transition from summer to winter. Its harvest was over and the plants lay in quiet repose awaiting the first freeze of late autumn.

A heavy cloud cover obscured both moon and stars, rendering the night inky in shadows save for the occasional twinkle of candlelight peeking out from surrounding home and hearth. Iris could barely make out Frodo’s features in the wane light of the lone lantern set on an iron stake on the side of the pathway. He appeared thinner than the last time she had seen him. Slightly darkened smudges under his eyes told the story of too many nights enduring recurring nightmares. She could read his symptoms even in the heavy darkness.

Frodo took her warm hands in his cool ones. His voice was low and full of regret.

“Iris, I am terribly sorry for upsetting you so with my talk of leaving Middle Earth,” he whispered. “If there was a way I could reach into the past and erase my offensive words I would do so, but I cannot. I can only try to heal the damage I have caused. But I do not know how. Perhaps there are other options available to me which I have not considered. Perhaps there is a way to stay and be with you. But I need to talk to you about it.”

He reached up a hand to caress her face, but she pulled back, evading his fingers. It was too soon. She was too wary. “Frodo, don’t dangle little threads of hope in front of me. That’s not fair. What are you trying to say?”

A happy couple wandered past on the back road behind the buildings, laughing and talking to each other about the party. It was Merry and Heili. Frodo waited until they had passed before answering.

“May we go inside? I would hate to have this conversation overheard.”

They ascended the stone steps to the back door and crossed into Iris’s private residence. Once inside she led him into the little room which served as both her living room and medical library. As Frodo stoked the fire back into life Iris went into the kitchen to retrieve a couple of glasses of red wine. Frodo stood next to an upholstered easy chair set beside the fire, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm. Iris handed him a wine goblet and sat on the couch facing him and the fireplace.

“Iris, let me start by saying that I do not desire to leave Middle Earth,” he began, taking a deep swallow of wine. “I would love to have things return to the way they were before the Quest. But they will never be the same, for I have been changed. I feel that I must leave Bag End.” He began to pace before the fire, casting indecisive shadows across the rug.

“Why?” was her only word.

“It is not safe to have me there with Rose and Sam. Soon there will be children. How can I possibly stay there with my illness causing such unpredictable and violent outbursts? You saw what happened. I am a menace to them, no matter how careful I am or how cautious and protective Sam is about me. I simply cannot stay there. In fact, I may not be able to remain in the Shire at all.”

Frodo looked down and away in embarrassment. “I have changed too much.”

‘It is as if he thinks he is somehow responsible for the atrocities inflicted upon himself,’ she thought. ‘He needs me as his physician right now.’

Iris sipped her wine and settled back into the couch. “All right. You say you cannot stay at Bag End. I may not agree with you on that point but am willing to consider the possibility. But why do you think you have to leave the Shire altogether?”

Frodo sat down and leaned forward in the chair, both hands cupping the bowl of his goblet. “I was led to believe that healing could only come from the Elves. Lord Elrond and Gandalf, and even Arwen told me the Elves across the sea might be able to heal me and bring me peace. I do greatly desire to find healing, but even that is not certain. And there is no returning from such a sea journey. Even if I was healed, I could not come back to the Shire, or to Middle Earth at all. I would die there eventually. And despite what Gandalf or Galadriel would say, I think I would be terribly lonely. There are no hobbits there. The Elves would honor me and treat me well, but I am not like Bilbo. I cannot live forever with the Elves. They are not my kind. I need someone of my own kind.” He looked at her. “Iris, I need you.”

“Are you certain you need me or just another hobbit to talk to?” Iris asked. She mentally chided herself for the snappy reply, but she offered no apology. Taking a deep breath, she resumed. “What of Bilbo? Isn’t he going across the sea with Gandalf and the Elves? Wouldn’t you have him for company?”

Frodo set the goblet onto the hearth, got out of the chair and knelt on the rug at her feet. “Understand; I love Bilbo. He took the place of my father and mother. More than that, he was my mentor, teacher and friend.”

He stretched his hand out and caressed her face. “But he is not my soul mate. Iris, it is you that I want. Not Sam. Not Rose. You. It is you that I love. I miss you terribly and I want to be with you. You are the reason I have changed my mind about leaving.”

She pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. She was afraid to trust him again. “Why not move out of Bag End and find a place here in Hobbiton? What could be more simple?”

Frodo sat down cross-legged on the hearth rug and stared into his hands. “I shall try to explain my jumbled thoughts. I apologize if they make no sense to anyone save myself.”

He blinked a few times, then began very quietly. “When I was on the Quest, I thought that by sacrificing myself to destroy the Ring I would save the Shire. Through the months of traveling to Mordor I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable. I would leave the Fellowship and travel to Mount Doom alone. My life would be forfeit during the attempt. But if I timed things well I would die at the same moment the Ring was destroyed. The Shire would be saved. And that would be the end of things,” Frodo confessed. “Instead, Sam comes to Mordor with me. After the Ring was destroyed I awoke to find myself alive but maimed; Gandalf alive, not dead; Aragorn a King instead of a Ranger; and the home I once knew turned into the headquarters for revenge against my own people. And it was all because of that Ring.

“I returned to find the Shire of my youth tainted and ruined. Even though it may not appear that way to you, everywhere I look I see destruction and evil wrought upon it. The Shire has changed. I have changed. And I do not know if either of us can ever be fully healed.”

He turned his gaze to the fire. “It sometimes tears me apart to look upon the little hills and rivers and farms. To be reminded of what was, and what can never be reclaimed. Of the way I was and can never be again. What has been taken from me. The longer I dwell upon it, the more unbearable it becomes.

“My only brightness is you,” Frodo continued, turning his blue eyes full towards Iris. “You and Sam and Rose and my friends. But I fear even these cannot alleviate the pain I feel daily by simply living here. Perhaps it would be better for me to leave the Shire and live elsewhere. I do not know.”

He turned again and stared into the fireplace. Iris let the silence between them mature for a few minutes, then gently asked, “What do you seek?”

He thought for another minute, listening to the crackle and sputter of the burning logs. “I seek safety. And quiet. I might never find it in the Shire again, for it has changed. Perhaps in too subtle a way to be perceived by those who have not gone through what Sam and I have endured. But it is almost unbearable for me to witness.”

Iris moved off the couch and joined him on the rug. “Then where will you go?” she gently asked. “Where in Middle Earth would you consider safe? Safe from what?”

“Safe from what is trapped inside my mind,” he replied, rubbing his aching left shoulder. “Rivendell might be one such place. It is so peaceful there.” He stared past her and into his memories. “Peaceful and lovely – a place like nowhere else. A place of contemplation, understanding, laughter, art and song. Of waterfalls and mountain air and golden sunshine.” His gaze returned to her face and he smiled a sad smile. “It was the one place Bilbo could find rest after he gave up the Ring. The Elves understood his need for respect and privacy, as well as companionship and love. I thought of moving there, but unfortunately, the Elves are leaving. The Elvish Ring of Power which maintained the Rivendell peace and tranquility has been rendered impotent by the destruction of the One Ring. Rivendell will soon become a place of ghosts and legend.”

“You sometimes speak of another Elvin realm when you are ill,” she prompted. “Lothlorien. You always refer to it as a place of comfort and peace and quiet. What of the Lady of the Golden Wood? Would she not welcome you there?”

“She is also leaving Middle Earth,” Frodo said. “All the Elves are leaving Middle Earth. Perhaps not all in our lifetime, but they are leaving. Galadriel will travel with Lord Elrond next year. All the ringbearers are leaving; Galadriel, Elrond, Gandalf, Cirdan the shipwright, even Bilbo. I loved Lothlorien, but not as a place to live. I have to agree with what Gimli once said to me about Lothlorien. It is perilous. It is too strange and beautiful and alien. It is more like living in a dream where time stands still, and I do not wish to become ensnared in a perpetual dream. And with the Elves leaving, it is too vulnerable to orc attack from Moria. There must be some other place where I could find rest and peace and safety.”

“Why not go to some remote part of the Shire?” Iris asked. She moved back to sit on the couch.

“And do what?” Frodo looked up. “I have no practical skills. I was never taught a trade, though my aunts and uncles tried several times to apprentice me to various craftspeople. I am a landowner who dabbles in writing books. I am more of an historian by avocation. But there is little call for an historian in the Shire. It is not a natural profession for a hobbit. The Elves and Big Folk have historians and official libraries, but not hobbits. Sometimes I feel as if I am not fully hobbit. It is as if I am more inclined towards Elvish arts such as literature and history. I am useless here.”

“Frodo Baggins!” Iris interrupted, “Don’t ever say that to my face. You are NOT useless. You are very much needed and loved. Would you call Bilbo’s life useless? No. He was a landowner and a writer too. You and he are so similar he might as well be your father.”

“No, Iris,” Frodo shook his head slightly. “The comparison is not accurate. He returned from his adventure basically unchanged and able to enjoy a normal life at Bag End. I carry with me the scars of the Ring, which make me an alien wherever I am, but particularly strange to the peace of the Shire. People here notice my differences and have no desire to understand what actually happened outside their little country. They avoid me unless they are close, personal friends. I make people uncomfortable. Perhaps I should leave.”

Again Iris interrupted, leaning forward to catch his gaze. “So you make people uncomfortable, eh? So what? From what I understand, you and Bilbo have always made the stuffed shirts in Hobbiton uncomfortable. That is nothing new and has nothing to do with your adventure.” She reached out her hand to stroke his cheek. “Frodo, you are using that as an excuse to avoid dealing with your problems here at home. Yes, the Shire has changed. But we must all live in the Shire that exists now, not some idealized memory of what it was in the past. You must try to live in the present. You are most comfortable at Bag End – in your family home. Use the time which is given to you.”

Frodo placed his head on Iris’s knees, wrapping his arms around her legs and hugging himself to her body. His sigh sounded so forlorn. Iris stroked the dark curls spilling into her lap.

“You don’t have to face this alone,” she gently whispered. “You have friends here who love you and would do anything for you. Surely you know this?”

The voice which replied was full of remembered hurts and anticipated pain. “Iris, I cannot deny my nature. I cannot stay in Bag End now that my illness makes me dangerous.”

His hand reached up to find hers. ‘His body is asking for help, even if he won’t voice it,’ she thought. ‘The body tells the truth while the mind is preoccupied.’

“I have been wounded far too grievously to remain at Bag End,” he continued. “It is the perfect place for Sam’s healing and for Rose and their children, but not for me. I need to leave. But where to go? And…” Frodo hesitated, then raised his head and looked into her eyes “… and Iris, I know this is rather forward, but … but, would you come with me?”

“I will not answer that question until you have a clear idea of where it is you are going,” Iris calmly replied. She continued to stroke his hair. “I will not follow you blindly into the unknown. I am not like Sam that way. I love you, Frodo Baggins. But I need more from you than Sam did. I need to know what I am getting into. And I have a duty to my patients here. I cannot in good conscience leave them without a physician. How can you ask me to leave my home?”

“There must be another solution,” Frodo mused aloud. “Some place both of us would feel comfortable. I do not think we can come up with the answer tonight, but may I at least come by and talk with you some more about it? Could we resume our Friday walks in the countryside? I miss you terribly, Miss Proudfoot.” He reached over and took her hand and kissed it.

“Mister Baggins,” she cautioned, “be careful of my heart. Once bitten, twice shy, as my mother always said.”

“Then let me try again.” Frodo stood and gently pulled Iris to her feet. “I shall repeat again what I said to you beside the stream coming back from the Wyncots. I love you, Iris.”

She could not resist. He held her heart. He had claimed it that dark night of blood and nightingales. She had freely yielded it to him, and there was no going back. They kissed before the fireplace. Frodo stretched out on the rug before the fire. His dark eyes invited Iris to join him.

“Frodo Baggins,” she sighed as she lay at his side, “you must be part Elvish. You have cast a spell on me and have written your name on my soul.” She absentmindedly fingered his clothes. Her sensitive fingers noticed it before her eyes. “I’ve found where you had the nightingale embroidered on your vest,” she smiled. It was located above his heart.