Decision

Disclaimer: None of the characters of places are mine. I get no profit, but the satisfaction of my own curiosity.

DECISION

With a sigh, Frodo closed the book in front of him and leaned back in his chair. Finished. He couldn’t think of anything else to add. It was all there, first in Bilbo’s thin handwriting, then in his own firmer hand.

He waited, sure some forgotten detail would pop into his mind, or a better way of wording some event or a more understandable explanation of some part of the story. He sat, hand on the cover, for several minutes, but his mind remained blank. Finally he pushed away from the tall slanted desk where he wrote and stood up. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was late afternoon, but there was still time before twilight for a walk around the fields and buildings of Bag End.

Frodo’s cloaked figure pacing through the fields and trees was a familiar sight to many in the Shire. Most shook their heads, thinking to themselves that Frodo, like Bilbo before him, had gone adventuring and turned a bit odd from the experience. Hobbits, you see, just didn’t mix in the world. No, they were meant to stay in the Shire, tend their fields and flowers and venture no further than the pub or the market. Frodo reminded them of this each time they caught sight of his silent, pensive figure. Sure, Sam had gone with him, and Merry and Pippin, but they had returned seemingly unchanged. If Merry and Pippin each at times seemed more serious and even occasionally downright cautious, well, they had to grow up a bit sometime and the general opinion was that maturity was somewhat overdue for those two incorrigibles anyway. And Sam, solid, faithful Sam, just wasn’t the sort to let anything change him much.

One hobbit, though, watched Frodo worriedly. Sam noticed that the long walks were becoming more and more of a habit for his friend. Frodo had dismissed them as just the result of too long in front of Bilbo’s manuscript, to which he was adding his own tale, and those of his friends. He assured Sam that nothing was wrong, that he was fine and fit and well. Sam nodded and let Frodo be, but in the back of Frodo’s eyes, Sam saw the shadow of Mount Doom. So when Frodo slipped out for a solitary walk, Sam was never far away, watching, waiting for he knew not what.
So Frodo walked the woods and fields and lanes, seemingly unaware of Sam’s surveillance, feeling oddly forlorn. For so many months, stretching into years, he had poured himself into writing the story of the Ring and the Fellowship that had formed to destroy it. He had used the writing to relive his journey, as a means of working through everything that had occurred. Good or bad, sometimes things had just happened so quickly that he hadn’t had a chance to think through what was going on. There had been only time to react. It was only with reflection that Frodo could see the connections, could know that even when separated, the Fellowship had not been broken.

No, Frodo mused, the Fellowship had not been broken. Not really. Not when Gandalf had fallen to the Balrog, not when he and Sam had slipped across the lake on their own, not when Orcs had captured Merry and Pippin. They had all always carried hope for each other, for their purpose, for him, in their hearts, wherever they had wandered. But now – Frodo thought of the letter, brought by messenger, from Elrond.

They were leaving Middle-earth. The last of the Elves, the bearers of the Three Rings, were bound for the last ship to leave for the Grey Havens. Bilbo, old and frail and failing, was going with them. Gandalf was as well, his task completed. And the Elves had extended an unheard of invitation to Frodo himself – to sail with them, as the last Bearer of the One Ring and as a friend to the Elves. The desire to accompany his uncle on his last journey was strong, but to leave Middle-earth, never to return? Frodo struggled with the idea. He had left the Shire to protect it, the memory of the sight and smell and sound of the life he had always known ever in his mind as he had carried the Ring. The bright green of a Shire spring had stood between Frodo and the Ring, providing a distraction from the Ring’s song, allowing Frodo to hold onto himself as the Ring tried to corrupt him to its own purpose. And yet now, pacing through the green of Shire fields, Frodo could not shake the feeling that he did not belong, that he was only visiting, waiting for something that he couldn’t identify.

Trying to shake off his melancholy mood, Frodo turned his steps toward the pub. He knew he would almost certainly find Merry or Pippin there at the dinner hour. Sam, he knew, would be home with Rosie and their little ones. Tonight he needed the lighthearted company of the cheerful duo.

Sam, seeing Frodo enter the door of the pub, nodded to himself. He knew that both Merry and Pippin were there tonight. He threw open the door to his own home with a light heart, the savory smells and warmth of the kitchen enveloping him at once.

Frodo awoke the next morning feeling strangely empty. With a start, he remembered that he had completed his book. He stretched luxuriously, enjoying the extra moments before rising from bed. Once up, the hours loomed empty in front of him. He decided that he had been neglecting the gardens of late, so wandered out after breakfast, prepared to spend the morning out of doors.

Even at the end of a day spent primarily outside, Frodo ended the day with the same sense of unease and waiting. He knew that he would soon have to send word to Elrond with an answer. He felt out of place in the Shire, had ever since he had returned. Sam had found happiness with Rosie; Merry and Pippin were happy, settling back into their lives. Frodo had no doubt that the pair each would find someone to share their lives. Frodo could not even begin to conceive of sharing his life with a wife. Like Bilbo before him, he felt that he was destined to be a confirmed bachelor and happy to be so.

But was feeling displaced, isolated among his own, a strong enough reason to leave the Shire forever?

Frodo struggled with the question for the next few days, growing irritable with himself and the nagging sense that he was waiting for something else, something undefined and just out of reach.

When the messenger knocked wearily on the door to Bag End, Frodo leapt to his feet. He had been reading, not quite dozing, after a particularly satisfying mid-day meal and the sound galvanized him into action. Whatever he had expected, it was not the Elf at the door, not the elaborately sealed scroll he handed Frodo. After politely refusing Frodo’s offer to come in and sit awhile, the Elf disappeared into the surrounding landscape, leaving Frodo to regard the scroll uncertainly. Was Elrond pressing him for an answer already?

Frodo glanced quickly at the bottom of the scroll as he unrolled it. The handwriting was distinctly feminine and the flowing signature was that of Galadriel. Hastily he found the start of the letter and began reading.

Dear Frodo,
I know that Elrond has written to you, to extend an invitation, on behalf of all Elves, to join us on our journey to the Grey Havens. I do not write to pressure you to accept or decline that offer. That decision rests solely in your own capable hands.
I write only to express my gratitude for your destruction of the One Ring. In all your long journey, you kept hope alive. Your steps led you to darkness and despair but also to great friendships and finally home again. When all was dark, you remained true. For that, you have earned my gratitude.
The Elves have extended their invitation to honor you and, as I am sure Elrond told you, to remove all Bearers of the One Ring from Middle-earth, as all who yet bear Rings of Power will take ship. This is, as Gandalf has said, the Time of the King. But Frodo, you must follow your heart; it has not led you astray yet. If you do not choose to leave with us, then one day, a time of your choosing, you will be able to call a ship to bear you to the Grey Havens, as one day Sam shall also call, if he chooses. This is not your only chance.
Trusting that this finds you, and your companions, well.
Affectionately,
Galadriel

Frodo stared into the fire for a long time, Galadriel’s letter held loosely in his hand. It was only when he realized that the fire had almost died that he stirred. A new confidence buoyed his steps. He realized that his choice was made. He knew where his heart was leading him.