Winter, 3012

Frodo set his book aside and stretched lazily, feeling every major bone in his body click into place. It was no use: not even the most captivating of tales from the specially selected tome had been enough to keep his mind off the problem at hand. His eyes kept jumping paragraphs absently and his brain registered the words only superficially, while his mind obstinately wandered elsewhere.

He had to admit to being more than slightly tired since he had arrived home from visiting the Tooks. The Yule celebrations had been exhausting enough, with more than their fair share of merriment and festivities, bearing witness to the plentiful, lavish year past. Frodo had made up his mind that going there for Yule would be the best thing: everybody would be infused with the jovial spirit and more likely to be forgiving and generous. And, most importantly, Pearl Took would maybe find it in her heart to admit that she wasn’t all that attached to him.

Only the plans he laid very carefully and the words he ran through a hundred times did not really have the desired effect, especially after Pearl had her say and, one thing having led to another, he returned to Hobbiton with a completely different mindset.

Since his return, Frodo had caught himself thinking of Pearl most unexpectedly, and alarmingly often. He would have his lunch and suddenly he would wonder how it would feel to have Pearl Took sitting across from him, sharing his food, taking nibbles off his plate and making faces at him. He would lie in the bath and catch himself pricking his ears in an effort to hear Pearl’s voice calling the children, their children, and his heart would jump at the almost audible sound of softly pattering feet running riot down the many hallways of his now empty home. And it occurred to him that these thoughts were not unexpected after all. He held great affection for Pearl, and of the many lasses he had known over the years, he had been unable to think of anyone else as a life partner.

Trying to tell himself that it was just the lingering effect that Pearl had always had on him didn’t quite do the trick. Frodo knew it ran deeper than that. A lot deeper.

He had gone to talk to Pearl with the intention of making it clear that she should be looking elsewhere if she wanted a husband. Five minutes into the conversation, Frodo had known beyond a doubt that agreeing to go to Pearl’s bedroom had been a mistake. With hindsight, he wasn’t so sure that it had been a mistake, but rather an eye opener.

‘I don’t want to talk, Frodo,’ Pearl cooed, circling Frodo’s neck with her arms and pressing her body to his, ‘It’s been so long since your last visit. I’ve missed you, you know.’

All the while, she teased her way along his jaw line with cat kisses, deliberately avoiding his lips and making the whole exercise all the more tantalizing.

‘I was beginning to think that you’d given up on me,’ she purred.

‘Which is why I feel that I need to make things clear between us, Pearl,’ Frodo said, slightly breathlessly, pulling away from her gently but firmly. The outcome of this conversation depended on how long he managed to keep his mind clear before his more basic desires kicked all reason aside. ‘I don’t think you should wait around for me to make up my mind if I’d like to be married or not.’

Frodo respected Pearl greatly and understood that the only approach that worked with her was absolute honesty – and so he felt no compunction about telling her the truth as it stood. But her intoxicating proximity, her body snuggled up close and her heady, familiar scent were fast becoming major hindrances to his already precarious position.

‘This is rubbish, Frodo Baggins, and you know it,’ she told him to his face, visibly frustrated by his move. Pearl was not one who was used to having her advances disrupted mid-way. ‘Have I ever asked you for anything remotely close to a commitment?’

Her clear gaze was unforgiving in its directness and Frodo’s heart softened. In truth, she had never mentioned, or even hinted at, marriage; instead she had enjoyed whatever company he was willing to give when he visited Tuckborough. It was the most convenient liaison Frodo had ever dreamed of having, no strings attached, no questions asked. Ever.

‘I need you to understand…’ Frodo began but stopped and swallowed uncomfortably, wishing that his throat worked well enough so as not to make a complete fool out of himself.

‘You don’t know what you want yourself, Frodo,’ she interrupted in a mockingly amiable tone, with a smile that did not reach up to her eyes. ‘How can you hope then to make me understand?’

Frodo let out a sigh that sounded perilously close to relief but he did not bother to hide it. Pearl knew him well and there was no use denying it. But Frodo saw uncertainty in her eyes and he instantly felt that he needed to make his words sound less callous and so he tried again.

‘What I really mean to say, Pearl, is that you should maybe find a more worthy hobbit, someone who would not keep you hanging, like I’ve done. I’m not proud of it by any means, but you are of age to marry and soon your parents will expect you to do just that.’’

It didn’t look like his words had had the desired effect, for Pearl shook her head vehemently and almost spat out, ‘My parents know better than to force me into marriage before I’m ready. Or to dictate whom I can see and whom I cannot.’

‘I’m sure they do,’ Frodo agreed, ‘but I also know that your Ma and Da will not have us together much longer any other way but by proper betrothal.’

While Pearl’s parents had never directly approached him about his intentions, Frodo knew that their trysts were not the most closely guarded secret throughout the Great Smials and it was a matter of time before Pearl’s father would open his mouth and voice his displeasure at the rumours. One could only look the other way for so long, even where Pearl Took was concerned.
‘Well, I’ll have you know that I’m not ready for marriage yet,’ Pearl declared, striving to sound petulant, ‘and it’s fine with me if you’re not ready either. You know what I think about marriage and all that nonsense.’

‘Yes, I do,’ Frodo said firmly, renewed determination in his voice, ‘but this is not right. Whatever has been going on between us was wonderful, but it’s been going on for too long and there needs to be a sensible conclusion.’

‘Frodo, I asked for nothing like that,’ Pearl repeated, now visibly exasperated, yet Frodo felt her body stiffen against his. ‘Or are you trying to tell me you’ve grown tired of our little game?’ Her eyes darkened and she turned suddenly serious, dropping all pretence as apprehension became plainly written on her face.

‘It isn’t a game to me, Pearl,’ Frodo said seriously. ‘Not anymore. You are very dear to me and for your sake, as well as mine, we need to decide where to take things from here.’

‘No, we don’t,’ Pearl protested, though somewhat weakly and Frodo could not be sure if he heard a desperate edge in her voice.

‘Yes we do,’ he said quietly, searching her eyes carefully. ‘I’m afraid you know that as well as I do.’

‘Then in that case,’ Pearl shrugged, her seeming indifference regained, ‘when I am ready for marriage, I shall choose a fitting suitor. And I promise you that you will be the first one to know who he is.’

She paused only long enough to take a step towards Frodo and close the distance between them.

‘Until then, however,’ she continued in a honeyed tone, leaning against him once again, ‘I’m perfectly content to continue seeing you as and when I can. ’

Frodo opened his mouth to say something, but she pressed her lips against his and whispered against his mouth.

‘..And right now, talking is the last thing I want to do.’

It was useless to resist, Frodo knew. But before he left in the morning, a tacit understanding was reached between them: before Frodo’s next visit, they would have both decided what they wanted. And the night spent in blissful yet content passion had left little room as to the direction they both wanted to take. Even now, the memory brought a smile to Frodo’s face.

On the ride back from Tuckborough, his thoughts had been filled with her, and since returning to Hobbiton he had hardly been able to concentrate on anything else. His fears were confirmed when he entered his home, expecting to feel like he was back in his own private shrine, where solitude was a privilege rather than a curse. Yet the feeling that had enveloped him was that of stark, unwelcome loneliness and the sight of his empty home had never been less inviting.

Frodo stood up and rolled his head from side to side, seeking to relieve the tension that most often settled in his neck muscles. Going to bed early seemed to be the wisest choice and his lazy, relaxed mood incited him to snuggle under the covers, against the cruel winter cold. A blizzard raged outside and its howling noise carried into terrifying resonance as it slammed against the smial’s outside structure and slithered into the chimney and through cracks. For reasons he had not been able to fathom, winter had always made Frodo feel lonelier than ever, and suddenly the thought of having a warm body next to his became enormously appealing. Maybe it was time for him to consider settling down after all.

Taper in hand, Frodo padded unhurriedly down the hall towards the master bedroom and, in the distance of twenty steps, he made his decision. There was no point in delaying it any longer: he would take to the road again, even before spring, and go to Tuckborough to court Pearl properly, like someone of her station should be wooed. He would ask Paladin and Eglantine for her hand in marriage and put things right between them.

Frodo felt strangely liberated now that his decision was made, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he knew in his heart that he was doing the right thing.

With the feeling swathing him like a protective blanket, Frodo moved to twist the knob and enter his bedroom, but he halted abruptly. Without warning, his head started spinning viciously and he was overcome by a sense of dread such as he had not felt in recent memory. His whole energy seemed to have been drained at once and he steadied himself, leaning against the doorframe, fighting the terrifying sensation that someone, or something, lay beyond that door.

With a certainty that appalled him, although he had never experienced it before, he recognized the feeling and he knew at once that he wasn’t alone. A wild - or maybe wise - impulse spurred him to turn around, run to the chest in his study and seize anything that might be used as a weapon, but he found himself glued to the spot, unable to form a single thread of coherent thought. Before he became entirely aware of his actions or could make a move to stop himself, he had turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Without stepping inside, he peered at the fire-lit bedroom, half-expecting some fearsome creature to jump at him. But he knew at once that he wasn’t going to be attacked; whatever, or whomever, it was that shared his space, was sitting quietly and unobtrusively by the fire, in one of the two chairs placed there. Ridiculously, Frodo found himself wondering why he had kept the two chairs that Bilbo had in his bedroom. Neither hobbit had ever shared their bedroom with anyone.

He took one hesitant step inside, his gaze riveted on the intruder who did not move or acknowledge his presence in any way. Frodo noted the outline of a curly head from the top of the chair and velvet-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle in a relaxed posture.

For a wild moment, Frodo’s mind almost tricked him into believing that Bilbo had returned, only to realize a split second later that the intruder’s hair was far too dark and the legs a little too slender to belong to the old hobbit.

‘Who are you?’ Frodo rasped, finally managing to get his mouth working, not daring to advance any further.

But there was no sound other than the raging snowstorm outside and the crackling of the fire that cast blue and orange shadows across the bedroom walls. The intruder seemed to be oblivious to Frodo’s presence. Or he waited for Frodo to approach him.

‘What are you doing here?’ Frodo asked again, this time a little more forcefully.

Ignoring the fear that held him back almost forcibly, he carefully trod around the intruder’s chair. Even as he did so, he became aware of something oddly familiar about the other’s stance. The next moment, the fire provided sufficient light for Frodo to recognize him. He went limp with shock.

‘Sweet Elbereth!’ Frodo gasped.
 

Frodo backed away instinctively, knocking the other chair aside. His breath hitched and he squeezed his eyes and fists shut, chanting out loud, ‘This cannot be happening! This cannot be happening!’

He opened his eyes again, not really expecting to see the stranger gone, but he cowered nevertheless when he realized that he had not been able to wish the vision away: he was facing a slightly slimmer and paler mirror image of himself.

‘Are you a ghost?’ Frodo heard the question but he couldn’t be entirely sure that he had uttered the words.

But it cannot be, his conscious mind told him. It cannot be because, well, you’re not dead, for one thing.

And for another, his look-alike seemed all too solid, in spite of a faint glow about him that seemed to issue from inside, seeping out of his skin, an otherworldly, cold radiance. Frodo reasoned that had never seen a ghost before, so he could not be sure how one looked. Yet how can a living being and its own ghost share the same space?

‘Is this a dream?’ Frodo asked hopefully and for the first time, his replica acknowledged his presence, although his gaze remained fixed on the fire, studying the flames with rapt concentration.

‘If it makes you feel better, let’s say it is,’ he said in an oddly cadenced tone, a voice that Frodo barely recognized.

It didn’t make Frodo feel any better and he was about to say it. But sensing no immediate danger, Frodo realized that his curiosity had defeated both reason and fear, or that maybe his senses had become too numbed to function properly.

Slowly, without his eyes leaving the other, Frodo felt around for the tumbled chair and when he found it, he turned it over and sat down, albeit at a considerable distance from the fire and his unlikely ghost. He felt reluctant to even study the other one openly, for fear of what he might discover. Whatever fear he still harboured, Frodo realized, it was not at any action that this apparition might take, but rather at the premonition it stirred.

‘Why are you here?’ Frodo asked slowly, trying to silence the inner voices that pressed him to demand answers, now.

‘To warn you,’ the other said quietly and Frodo wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting: the other’s deliberate staring into the fire or the cryptic words that seemed to be spoken more as an afterthought than a forewarning.

‘Warn me about what?’ Frodo cursed himself for interrupting, but the words had burst out of him before he had a chance to stifle them.

‘Please, tell me,’ he persisted, silently pleading with whomever would listen for this to be a dream and whatever this… counterpart of himself was going to say - for he was sure it was going to be something terrible - would turn out to be nothing but a nightmare. A nightmare which, given the alternative, he would welcome.

The Other closed his eyes slowly and re-opened them after a long moment, as if what he was about to say required a lot of effort. His head turned and for the first time, Frodo had almost full view of the face, the fire casting black shadows on the hollows of the cheeks, which seemed all too gaunt and sunken.

It was an image of himself, without a doubt. Yet there was something about the features: they were too sharp, too lacking in hobbity roundness and yet something else outside what was obvious to the naked eye. The face did not seem aged by years, but it looked ancient beyond mortal knowledge. Ivory skin reflected sallow in the soft firelight and while Frodo had always been fairer-shinned than most hobbits, his cheeks were rosy and healthy. Not so with the other one. The very clear, unblinking eyes were his own, if a little more transparent, and they held intense weight and a trace of something far more painful than the mere remembrance of loss. Haunted it was that face, Frodo realized, and his heart twisted painfully. What could possibly have happened to make him look so wasted, so… removed from his former self?

‘What are you?’ he found himself re-formulating his earlier question, chilled to the bone in spite of his proximity to the fire. The sense of premonition was beginning to build again and for the first time, the numbness gave way to a dangerously roiling stomach.

‘I am a memory of you,’ the shade replied evenly, his solemn gaze still locked onto Frodo’s, ‘or, if you like, you are a memory of me.’

‘But where do you come from?’ Frodo persisted, shutting out the part of himself that warned him against learning the answer.

‘I do not dwell in Middle-Earth anymore,’ the shade said in a detached tone, ‘and because of that I was permitted to appear to you.’

Frodo swallowed uneasily.

‘Are you…? I mean, am I…’

‘Dead?’ the other almost laughed, but only a harsh, broken sound rang out. ‘There were times when I certainly wondered whether life was a gift. But no, I am not dead.’

Well, Frodo thought bitterly, you don’t look alive either.

But before he had a chance to open his mouth and ask for more enlightenment, the shade put up his hand in a gesture demanding silence.

‘Hear me out. There isn’t much time. What I’ve come to tell you is that your decision to marry is ill-fated.’

‘What?’

How could the other possibly know about his plans? Frodo had made up his mind only minutes ago, even if the decision had been coming for a while. And what was so doomed about his decision? Would Pearl refuse his proposal? Would they be unhappy in their marriage? Judging by the appearance of his ‘memory’, which looked like something had been eating away at him for the longest time, it certainly seemed a lot worse than mere unhappiness. Would he lose her?

‘Sadly,’ the shade spoke almost apologetically, ‘I am forbidden from giving you too many explanations, and it may seem strange to you if I tell you that it is the only way I can protect you. You will recognize it when the time comes, but not now.’

‘You can’t tell me that and not explain,’ Frodo struggled to keep his voice calm in spite of the dread that had settled in his bones. ‘You come here claiming to be my future, telling me that marriage is the worst thing I can do, yet you cannot tell me why or how? Who is not allowing you to tell me too much and most importantly, why?’

The other Frodo’s jaw tightened, as if he was pondering the least hurtful answer, but when he spoke, it was not the answer that Frodo was waiting for.

‘You are meant to do something in the future. Something important. And you may not want those you love to suffer because of it.’

‘Suffer? Why? What am I meant to do? You’ve told me that you’re not dead, so you must have survived whatever it is that you’re talking about…Please, I need to understand,’ Frodo heard the pleading edge in his own voice and when the other kept silent, he continued, as if trying to reason with himself aloud. ‘So, if I were married, I would have to forsake an adventure? So what? Maybe I am not meant to be a hero like Bilbo and lead his adventurous life precisely because I choose to settle down. I would have liked to step in his footsteps, years ago, but now I’m certain that’s not what I want from life.’

‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how quickly we realize what we wanted all along when faced with the option of losing it?’ the shade said dispassionately and to Frodo it seemed that if the words had been spoken sarcastically, they would have had less effect.

‘This is madness,’ Frodo said heatedly, ‘you are talking in riddles and I’m not sure I want to hear anymore of it. You tell me to reconsider my whole life yet I am not supposed to question why. Well, I won’t make it easy for you. I will have an answer! Or else you can go back to wherever you came from!’

Frodo regretted his outburst immediately, half expecting the image in front of him to dissolve and take with it such pitiful answers as it could give. But this was his life they were talking about and he wasn’t willing to give up and accept defeat so easily or so soon.

‘Listen to me,’ the shade said, completely ignoring Frodo’s harsh words, ‘you will be faced with a choice. Much depends upon what you will decide, and as it stands now, you may choose either way. But if there were someone waiting for you here, ties too strong to be broken, you might not be willing to take the path less trodden.’

‘But what better motivation to choose the path less trodden than protecting the ones I love?’ Frodo protested.

‘You think that now, but in a few years, after you’ve tasted what it is to have the love of a family of your own, you might not want to risk leaving them in uncertain or even dangerous times and setting off into the wide world.’

‘You made that clear enough,’ Frodo said bitterly, ‘but tell me this: how can you be certain of what I will choose?’

In his heart, Frodo felt a surge of rebellion against this cruel destiny that seemed to be pre-ordained for him.

‘You mean to tell me that whatever this adventure is, it will change me, for the worse, for the rest of my life, if your appearance is anything to judge by. You lead me to understand, that there are times when you would have preferred to die rather than live like this. And you believe that in spite of all this, I will still make the same choice?’

‘I cannot be sure, of course, but you forget, I know your heart and I know your thoughts. They were both my own once…’

Suddenly, Frodo felt inexplicable, cold fury seep into his bones. He felt a compulsion to be aggressive, if only to provoke this apparition, or to banish it even – anything - if only to bring forth a reaction other than the ostensible apathy that his double displayed.

‘I will not have my life path laid out for me by… you!’ he spat. ‘Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?’

In the firelight, Frodo’s angered eyes flickered darkly and he cast aside reason and fear alike.

‘What if the choice I make is not to believe you? After all, this could all be a deceitful dream.’

‘You may choose whatever you want,’ the other delivered the answer in a low, ominous tone, but yet again no muscle moved on his face. And it occurred to Frodo that his counterpart had actually expected this reaction. As if anger or even denial was the most natural part of accepting his destiny. ‘I am not your enemy. I just want to protect you, because you have no idea what you are facing and because I am not permitted to tell you-..’

‘Then give me an idea!’ Frodo cried in exasperation.

‘I cannot,’ the shade sighed and Frodo couldn’t be sure if there was a hint of helplessness in the other’s voice. It seemed so distant and removed from earthly reaction. ‘Your life path is your own and I cannot rob you of your choices.’

‘But you have been robbed of choice, haven’t you?’ Frodo grated. He leaned closer to the other with a defiant look in his eyes, drinking in the ruined vision that was his future. ‘Haven’t you?’

He studied the shade’s eyes, two crystal clear but vacant pools and instantly, Frodo knew that he had hit a sore spot. Yet at the same time, he understood that there would be no reassurance offered when he felt the other’s gaze burn through him and his defiance dissolved.

‘No. In the end, the choice was still mine.’

The shade paused briefly, a flicker of remembrance reviving the still eyes for an instant, as the memory of a youthful folly might do to an old man.

‘I am not permitted to tell you what the future holds. But I can tell you this: if you knew that something would happen that would force you to leave your family and homeland behind, to fight a battle that you couldn’t possibly win, against an evil that you couldn’t imagine exists, would you still think about binding Pearl to you? Would you still risk leaving Pearl or even your children behind, to go off and maybe never return? Or worse, to return to them and never be the same again?’

Rigid with shock, Frodo stared at the vision in front of him. Was this a glimpse of what he would have to go through in future? This adventure that had brought his double to the place where he was now? What was there so evil that it could render him so cataclysmically changed? And why would a hobbit, of all races, be chosen to fight it? He was by far not ignorant of the world outside the Shire and he had entertained the idea of adventure, but the words spoken by his alter ego raked streaks of doubt and dread in his heart. Frodo’s only reaction was mute disbelief

‘Would you not want to protect Pearl at all costs?’ the shade persisted.

‘Yes, of course I would,’ Frodo managed to babble, ‘but-‘

‘Then protect her you must,’ the other said gently, ‘in the only way you can.’

Frodo lowered his eyes. Grief, and rage, and helplessness, such as he had only known when his parents had died and when Bilbo had left, were beginning to simmer in his heart. In fact, Frodo realized, those feelings had never really left him, and their power over his fragile, often-wounded soul was waxing yet again, ready to devour as ever.

Finally, Frodo lifted his gaze to meet the other’s eyes. He saw compassion and, even more painful for him, he saw resignation.

‘You have led me to believe that I have a chance to survive this,’ Frodo said, forcing himself to speak calmly and elaborate carefully on his thoughts. ‘Why is it then that would stop me from resuming my relationship with Pearl?’

The other did not reply immediately but shook his head, smiling sadly and it was the finality of that simple gesture that unnerved Frodo more than anything that had been said that evening. No other words needed to be spoken for Frodo to understand.

‘It has to be a clean cut. For her sake, as well as yours…’

‘How did you come to accept it?’ Frodo asked, his anger dispersed into a numbing, yet not entirely unwelcome sensation, to replace the rising nausea, ‘Having to always give up the ones you love?’

‘What you have to bear will be yours to bear alone,’ the other said, ‘And when the time comes, you will understand that it was better that way.’

‘That doesn’t quite answer my question,’ Frodo countered.

‘If you must know, I never did come to terms with it,’ the shade whispered finally and it seemed like he was not addressing Frodo at all, but rather re-living the past. ‘For a little while, it helped to think that what happened was meant to be. But in the end, when I lay down at night, it was just an empty bed and me. And my deeds, however they might have been, gave me none of the expected comfort.’

‘Why me?’ Frodo said and by the swiftness of the shade’s reply, he knew that it was a question that he had expected.

‘I asked myself the same question, many times, but if you really want to know, it doesn’t matter. It won’t make it any easier or any harder to bear. You do what you have to do and whether you question it or not, it will still have to be done in the end. After a while, the reasons cease to matter.’

‘I cannot imagine that: not wanting to know the reasons why,’ Frodo said softly. His ever inquisitive mind could not grasp the concept of not questioning something so important. To be stripped of the ability to question and study, or to be reduced to a state where questions and answers no longer mattered was more than crippling. It was an abomination and indeed a fate worse than death.

‘You will encounter many possible reasons along the way, each more believable than the last. And it will be these reasons that will drive you to make your choices. But maybe having made this one choice now will make the one to come easier.’

‘You mean, having been forced into making a decision that I resent,’ Frodo laughed bitterly. The ambiguous answers he was getting did nothing more than push him further into the labyrinth of questions.

‘This sounds like…’ he paused, looking for the appropriate words, ‘like you are setting me up to have as little to lose as possible in the face of adversity.’

‘It is not my intention to hurt you, but it is better to be prepared, even if you are not so enlightened right now,’ the other said quietly and his voice acquired a rueful edge.

‘Is this the only way then?’ Frodo asked, knowing the answer even before it was delivered.

The other nodded gravely.

‘Pearl will never understand,’ Frodo whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

‘No, she will not,’ the shade agreed. He fell silent, letting the words and their meaning sink in. It was Frodo who ruptured the silence eventually.

‘I hate being alone,’ he said with sudden fervour, staring angrily into the fire as if the very origin of his woes lay amidst the flames. ‘I never thought I’d ever say this, but I’ve come to hate it.’

In one fluid movement, the shade shifted position slightly, and the rustle of fabric brought Frodo back to himself. He watched the other stretch his legs as if preparing for a long walk, but his eyes were attracted to the shade’s hands. Aghast, Frodo stared at the right hand that had been hidden from view before, at the stump of the missing third finger. It looked like it had been cleanly severed by a blade. The shade perceived Frodo’s dismay, because he lifted his hand slowly and smiled easily, in stark contrast with the shocking revelation of his words.

‘This was the smallest price I had to pay.’

In spite of his eyes being glued to the maimed hand, Frodo could not help but notice that the shade’s texture was becoming more and more transparent. He searched the other’s eyes and understood: their time had come to an end and the vision would soon melt away completely.

‘Please,’ Frodo cried breathlessly, ‘one more thing!’

There was barely enough clarity left to the shade now. It was fading so quickly that he would dissolve any moment, but Frodo saw him nodding his assent.

‘Knowing what you do now, would you take it all back if it were possible?’

A quivering smile and a flash of white teeth was all Frodo could discern before the shade dispersed before his very eyes. But he heard the murmur that came from all around him, as if the phantom had now become enmeshed in Frodo’s own being.

‘No, I would not.’


~~

A crashing noise caused Frodo’s eyes to snap open and instinctively, he jumped to his feet and looked around in a panic. It took a few moments for him to realize that the noise had been caused by him knocking the book to the floor.

Confused, Frodo glanced about, only to see that he had fallen asleep in his chair, but that the fire had almost gone out and it was becoming dreadfully cold. The blizzard continued unabated outside and Frodo stood up shakily, rubbing his temples with his fingers, willing his violently throbbing head to clear.

Jumbled thoughts and fragments of a strange conversation flooded his confused brain, but he could not remember what or with whom he had spoken. I must have dreamed, Frodo concluded.

But the lingering feeling did not leave. It seemed that there was something terribly important that he had to remember, as if the fate of the whole world depended on it, but no matter how much he strained his memory, he could not build any consistent recollection. A distant yet terrible foreboding swept over him. He stood in the middle of the room for a long time, unable to move, knowing beyond a doubt that there was something that he needed to do, yet he could not remember what it was. Almost as if something were calling him, drowning out the voices of reason in his head. Something that was so crucial that everything else he had planned to do in his life paled into insignificance.


~~

Spring, 3018

Alone, Frodo sat in his bedroom, pondering on the answer he had been seeking for so many years. The answer to a question he had not been able to remember, but which had shaped his destiny regardless.

Earlier that morning, Frodo had had a conversation with Gandalf and he remembered every word of it. How his whole world had been turned upside down in a matter of minutes. How by a twist of fate, an object of ancient, most powerful evil, had turned out to have been in his possession all along: the One Ring.

He had made a decision that day, to take the Ring and leave the Shire, but he feared that before long, more terrible choices would stand before him. And Frodo’s thoughts went back to Pearl, so many years ago, to the night when he had resolved to make her his wife and to the fragments of that terrifying dream that he still could not entirely recall. To the trip to Tuckborough that he never took that spring, or the bride that Pearl never was for him. To the happy laughter of their children that now could never be. But in spite of the anguish that gathered in his heart, he could not help but feel a little grateful. Pearl had another life now. But at times, even though he tried to avoid her on his now infrequent visits to Tuckborough, she managed to catch his eye, somewhere in a hallway or across the dinner table. And there was always an unspoken question there, mixed with confusion and the bittersweet memory of what they had shared long ago. Those were the moments when Frodo knew that Pearl had not understood why he had chosen to drop out of her life so quietly and without explanation.

‘I’m sorry,’ he heard himself whisper to the empty room. But there was no one there except the echo of his own voice. He was alone and that was the only certainty.

Yet for a fleeting second, Frodo thought he saw the outline of a pale form sitting by the fire in the opposite chair, glowing with an inner light that at once seemed familiar and welcome. And although Frodo could not discern the other’s features, he felt the other smiling and took great comfort in his presence.

~ The End ~

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