The hour is late. Too late. There is something I need to do. It is urgent! What is it? I must remember, so that I can fulfill my duty!
I am not supposed to be here, I know that much. This is the Shire! My place is not in some strange little smial, with hobbits working and singing in peaceful fields all around me. I am standing in a picture of the past. This is not now. Now is iron and steel, dark and fire.
I am afraid of the fire, so afraid that I cannot breathe. Yet the fire was important, wasn't it? Fire was the goal. Into the fire. Cast It into the fire!
Ahh. Yes. That is it. The Ring. The Precious. Where has it gone? I must get it back! So that I can...what? Destroy it? Why would I want to destroy something so incredibly valuable?
Oh! but it is gone now, and now there is nothing. Nothing but an unfathomable black pit where nothing ever comes but iron and steel, dark and fire.
No. There is something else. How could I forget? The others, the dear ones who all depended on me! I remember now. I wish I didn't! Why was I frustrated, just now, that I could not remember? Elbereth, send me back into oblivion, let me become completely mad!
Alas for Aragorn, the Uncrowned King! Alas for the Lady Arwen, who now shall never wed him! Alas for dear old Gandalf, and Elrond, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Faramir...I am sure they are all dead now. They needed me to save them. I failed.
There are other faces, dearer faces, whom I do not want to picture because I know their memories will be too painful. But their merry eyes shine out of the past to smile at me. I love them too much not to see them. Dear Merry and Pippin, my poor lads, how I wish you had never formed your "conspiracy" to leave the Shire with me! How can it be that I have returned without you?
Bilbo dear, what would you think of me now? Would you not disown me, and say you regret ever having known me? Are you still safe in Rivendell, or were the Dark Lord's claims true--that Rivendell has fallen, and you are in his fell clutches? My dear Bilbo, I would give anything to save you from that fate!
But there is another, whose memory goes still deeper than these. I had thought, for a while, that he was not another, but simply a part of myself. I can remember now, though--that is how we were. Like twins, reading each other's thoughts. We hardly ever had to say what was on our minds; we just knew. How do you live without half of yourself? It is not right. It is not possible.
And so all this time I have not been living; I have merely been existing. I have not spoken since I met the Gondorian patrol last October. My last words were, "I am Frodo Baggins, a halfling of the Shire. I have come on a long journey and I wish only to go home." They said I could not go home. I knew they were right. It was only wishful thinking, from the moment the words formed in my mouth.
They kept me in a guardhouse, almost a prison, but I did not mind. I liked those stern accomodations much better than the deceitful, hypocritical luxury I lived in Nurn and even in fallen Gondor. I shudder with shame at the memory. "Shakh!" There is no sound more hateful to me. Yet I hear it all the time. He speaks it in my head. He is always in me, always shredding me from the inside out. I can never be free of him.
I have resisted him so far, but what will happen the next time the madness takes me? Where will I find myself when I wake? He is always telling me to return to Mordor. Come back, Master Baggins. Did you not enjoy My hospitality? Would you not like to return, and be My servant, in a position of great power? One quick stab of the morgul blade, and it shall be! His words fill me with dread, but I do not know how much longer I will be able to resist him. Sometimes I wonder if I can trust myself at all anymore. The last thing I remember is sitting down to write around noon, but now the sun is setting. I am still at my desk, but I have no idea what happened in those hours.
Perhaps they should have kept me in the guardhouse! I really did not mind it. My captors were a bit gruff with me, but I thought it nothing after...well. Besides, I understood their suspicions. I know what I look like, a thrall of Mordor.
Perhaps I am what I look like.
They did not speak to me often, but when they did, I responded as politely as I could without talking. I would nod or shake my head, or, when I could manage it, smile politely. I have not spoken except in my mind.
I like the silence. It is truthful. It is the only way I have to honor all the valiant, innocent dead who lost their lives through my failure.
I never want to speak again. I hate the sound of my own voice.
The last time I heard it, it filled me with loathing.
The Frodo who faced the Nazgul at the Bruinen Ford was long gone, replaced by a crazed animal. My erstwhile captors had brought me to this lovely smial, completely furnished, even with food on the table and tea brewing. It was not nearly as big as Bag End, but any hobbit would be delighted with such a charming home. I had noticed a group of young hobbits crossing a field, laughing and joking, and I just stared and stared at them. I didn't hear a word the men said. I was mesmerized by this unbelievably unchanged Shire until one of the men started to guide me toward the door. I tried to say "Thank you," but I couldn't form the words. Then I noticed that the house had a garden, a breathtaking one, partitioned by low hedges in an exquisite geometric pattern. The flowers were in full bloom: roses, tulips, hyacinths, irises, bluebells, lilies, peonies, all manner of wildflowers, even a small herb garden conveniently near the side door to the kitchen. Leading to the front door was a path of white gravel lined with stones painted to look like marble. How in all this vast Shire? It was almost a copy of my old garden at Bag End! Why, Sam and I planned that design together, long ago. I helped lay out the white gravel while he spent hours sitting on the front stoop, painting the marbleized stones.
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, clawing at the grass and crying horrible, screaming sobs. It was inexcusable. Even I was alarmed. I haven't heard anyone scream like that since...since...
Since.
Oh, Eru. There are no words. There are no words.
Did You see them? Did You look down and see them? Did You see their eyes? Answer me! Did you see their eyes as they suffered and died? They looked to me!
They looked to me for help! To the one who had brought it upon them! "Uncle Frodo, help me, Uncle Frodo!" Why could I not save them? If only it had been me instead! Never them, never, never them!
Why did I not die in the Dark Tower? Why am I not still there? Oh, how I wish I had never left that cell, had never met those nine dear innocent ones! Oh, that I had never seen them, never loved them, never, in the depths of my heart, called them my children, my brothers and sisters!
All whom I love perish.
No, I will never speak again. Though it will condemn me to a solitary life, I will not risk growing fond of anyone. All whom I love perish.
But You, Eru, speak! Tell me that there is hope for my loved ones, that some reward awaits them, after Mandos halls, that will surpass their pains! For the Dark Lord sits in my mind, keeping watch on my every thought, scalding me with his constant laughter, and he tells me there is nothing but the Void.
Will You not speak? Will You not give me a sign? Some small light in this blackness? I beg of You!
A light in dark places. Where is my star-glass? At least that was returned to me.
My half-finished papers rustle as I frantically search through the cluttered heaps on my desk. I thought I had it here. Perhaps it is up on that top shelf. Yes, there it is, faintly glowing. As I reach for it, it glows brighter. Can the One have heard me? Would He still look upon me, tainted as I am?
I stand on tiptoe and stretch my arms to reach it. Ai! Freeze...stay still...slow, careful breaths. The old wounds torment my shoulder as though I were still in the Dark Tower. But, I remind myself, I am no longer there.
No longer there? I hear his malicious voice again. Shakh Baggins, Friend of Sauron, you shall never truly leave Lugburz, for I shall always be with you. You shall never escape Me!
I narrow my eyes, ignoring his attacks on my mind and body. I clench my teeth and reach again.
There now. I have the star-glass. Its glow is growing steadily brighter. There is something I ought to say, to honor the light of Earendil. But I do not want to speak. Perhaps I can only mouth the words.
Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima!
A flash of blinding light. It burns my hand, and I drop the glass with a gasp that chokes me. I am on my knees, surrounded by the star-glass light, struggling to breathe. I take out my pocket handkerchief and cough into it. I can see my ring, a sickening reddish gleam. Cruel laughter sears my mind. I know it is the Dark Lord who has harmed me, to turn my last source of hope against me. How he gloats! The pain in my hand does not recede quickly as in a normal burn, and I realize it has grown entirely dark before I can move from the spot where I fell.
The room is now lit only by the star-glass. I lie on my stomach and admire it. It shines blue-white kaleidoscopes on the walls. For the first time since I don't know when, I begin to feel a little safe. With a sigh, I lower my head to rest it on my arms. But then I notice something dark in my hand. My heart leaps when I realize what it is: the handkerchief, stained with blood.
The Gift of Illuvatar, a greater gift than any I had hoped for! This will end. This infinite sea of horrors will end! Can I truly hope for it? Countless times in the Dark Tower, they drove me tantalizingly close to death, but they always made me come back. Can I really hope that this time, he will let me die?
I have heard that the lung sickness can lie dormant for years, and then return. But no--the Dark Lord returned me to health after that illness, for his evil plans were not yet completed.
Perhaps, while the damage to my body was healed, the illness was allowed to remain with me, to rescue me at the end. I am always in pain, but I had thought that it was all heart-pain. But maybe some of this pain is from the illness! I know that if my suspicion is true, my tormentor will make the end as long and agonizing as possible, but I don't care. It will be worth it if it takes me away from all this darkness, to the shores where my loved ones wait! Eru, can it be possible? Oh, thank You! I don't know when I've been so happy.
I lower my head to my arms with a sigh. I am so exhausted. I am not sure why, though. I don't remember what took so much effort. There is fire and ice radiating all throughout my body, but that is usual. I close my eyes and try to ignore the taunting laughter ringing in my ears.
I roll over and stare up at the ceiling. Did I fall asleep here on the floor? It must be very late, isn't it? The house is dark, except for the faint light of my star-glass. I sit up, slowly and stiffly, and contemplate how the star-glass bathes the room in a soft glow.
Wait...why is the whole house dark? Why hasn't Sam lit the lamps? Oh, he has probably gone home for the night. Tomorrow morning I will ask him what he meant by leaving me asleep on the floor of my study! How did I get down here in the first place?
I struggle to my feet. An icy wave strikes me. Since when is it so cold in spring? And since when does the air have poison ice crystals that penetrate my skin and lodge inside me? Very odd! Disturbing, really.
I fumble in the dark until I find the bed and collapse onto it. I wrap myself tightly in all the sheets and blankets I have piled on it and lie here shivering. But before I drift off, I remember that something good happened today. Imagine that! Something good! But I don't remember exactly what it was. Oh, well. I will ask Sam what it was when he comes to wake me in the morning.