The Misty Marshes -- Chapter III "My Destiny."
Later that evening, Frodo lay alone in his bed, bed covers firmly tucked around him. Sam
and Rosie were sleeping in their room. Frodo had given them the master bedroom, for he
liked his old room the best, it had a nice window seat and a large fireplace. Somehow
though, he could not fall asleep. He coughed slightly every now and again, and his back
ached.
He reached over for the half full glass of juice by his bed and drank deeply. Soon it
would be empty and he’d have to get up and go back to the kitchen…but he
didn’t feel like getting up, in fact. He didn’t feel like doing anything. He
licked his lips, his throat ached as well.
What he wouldn’t give for Arwen to rest against right now…She would be holding
him softly like she had held him in Minas Tirith for days after Mordor…Gently tending
him as he cried and fretted and proclaimed that he didn’t want to live. She had told
him how he had not failed in the quest and how it didn’t matter that his finger was
gone…he was still Frodo. Even though he really wasn’t the same Frodo Baggins as
he was when he left the Shire what seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Rosie was
nice…but she belonged to Sam…he really couldn’t lean against her.
He sat up slowly, throwing away the covers as he set both feet on the floor. If they
didn’t want him…why didn’t they just -say- so? Why did they do this to him?
Did something happen? Was Aragorn sick…or hurt? Or…Frodo bit his bottom lip. Did
something happen they -couldn’t- tell him?
He thought about it, going over things in his mind. He could…he could make it there
on his own. He knew the way. He could find a pony in Bree. He reached up to finger the
necklace once again…he coughed slightly. He’d have to fill his canteen with a
lot of juice. He would write Sam and Rose a note. He just couldn’t wait another day.
The waiting was eating him up inside. Something -had- happened, he just knew it, and he
had to find out what.
He missed Aragorn too…Aragorn would know just what to give him to make the itchiness
in his throat to go away. Blushing a little, Frodo removed his nightshirt and glanced at
the fire…Aragorn….his touch had been such a relief when the fellowship made
their arduous journey. He had kept Frodo going…and his love had managed to give the
Ringbearer the determination to get to Mordor, no matter what happened. He missed
everything about the Ranger. His smile…his laugh…the way his hands felt…his
long muscular legs….Frodo sighed, and sat there for a few minutes, quite naked as the
light from the fire flickered in the room....as the light from the fire flickered in the
room. He looked back at his bed, he really shouldn't be contemplating leaving in the
middle of the night...but sleep was not going to happen.
Frodo looked at himself in the mirror at the side of the fireplace as he sat where he was.
He was hardly the way he was before he left the shire…hardly. Barely any of his old
clothes fit him anymore and his stomach was all but gone. His face was gaunt and thin and
his hair was still thick, looking quite like an unruly mop just now. His eyes still
dominated his small form and he sighed. Would they even be interested in him now? What he
needed…he needed exercise and …he needed something to look forward to. He needed
to be loved. That was really it…in all his life in the Shire only Bilbo had loved him
since the death of his parents. And Sam…but it wasn’t the same as a woman’s
love. Arwen’s love had healed him more than any other ever could. He saw the faint
scars still on his body from his various wounds and looked away. No…no he was hardly
appealing now. Milky white skin from too much time indoors lately…and pallid color to
his cheeks. The hobbit rose and padded over to his closet , reaching in for his traveling
bag.
He threw on his old traveling clothes, one of the shirts had a hole in it where he had
been cut once and he sighed a little but shrugged. Best to have what he used to use than
get other things dirty. He packed carefully, then stole into the kitchen. He took a couple
of things for food and washed his old canteen out…filling it with applejuice. Then he
sat down to pen a note to Sam. He hoped his friend would forgive him. He meant to come
back someday, but he had already decided to leave Bag End to Sam and Rosie. The last thing
he put in his back was his book, his pipe and weed. Then he took his staff and looked
around fondly at Bag End. With a push against the door, and a little cough…Frodo
Baggins stole out of his own home and moved down to the gate with a heavy sigh.
It was a windy night, but the stars were out and the moon guided his path. But there was
one other thing that pushed him along that long road…his own aching heart and
determined mind. It would be a long journey…but in the end it would be worth it. He
would know one way or the other and would be then able to decide if he was going to join
Elrond and go to the lands of Valinor. They had told him that he would never fully heal.
The wound he had gained at Weathertop had marked his soul deeper than anything the ring
could ever have done. He had felt the sting of his wound every now and then over the last
few months…but what had hurt the most was being so far away from Arwen and Aragorn.
He could never leave Arda if it meant leaving them.
He coughed again when he made it to the end of the hill and leant on a gate post to catch
his breath. :“Steady on, Frodo…Keep your feet, lad.” he whispered to
himself as he continued forth toward the road to Bree.
To Be Continued.