Fan Fiction ❯ Vignettes and Sketches ❯ The Passing of the Firstborn ( Chapter 2 )

Name: Androgene

Website: http://www.angelfire.com/space/noir13

Email: androgene@lycos.com

Title: Vignettes and Sketches: The Passing of the Firstborn

Summary: A retelling of the Ring-bearers and the Elves' leaving of Middle-Earth (ROTK)

Date of Completion: 10 Feb 2003

Category: Drama, Songfic

Rating: G

Warning: none

Author's Notes:

This was inspired by the Elven hymn to Elbereth, the scene in ROTK of Frodo's departure from Middle-earth. Actually much of the inspiration came from this album: At Dawn in Rivendell - selected poems and songs from LOTR, by the Tolkien Ensemble. This band was put together in mid-nineties to put music to the various songs from the books and they did a good job of it. The best was the Elven hymn to Elbereth, sang by the Elves on their way to the Havens. It is haunting, sad and majestic, and uplifting at the same time. Listen to it at night.

And this fic drew heavily from that track; I wrote it listening to the hymn, so reading it while listening to the hymn should be even better.

You might find some parts of the fic familiar. You should, since I took them from the books and jst rearranged them somewhat. These lines belong to Tolkien and I just couldn't resist using them.

Disclaimer:

All Middle-Earth creations and LTOR belong to Tolkien estate. I made no money from this.

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

Frodo smiled as he listened to Sam singing Bilbo's old walking song. His Sam, his dear and loyal friend; it seemed that some of the Bagginses' perchance for travel had rubbed off on his stout and true companion. Not much, but just enough to make this last journey all the more memorable and yet bittersweet.

They had set out together on this fine golden morning, on their faithful ponies - Strider and Bill - making their way leisurely through the green lands of the Shire. They had not talked very much; there were many spots they passed on the road that brought back memories both fair and foul. Memories they would never forget for the entirety of their lives, though felt like dreams at times.

Frodo had not told Sam where they were heading and Sam had not asked. But knowing his friend, Frodo had little doubt that Sam already guessed at his destination. Still, he wished to delay breaking the news to dear Sam.

Partings were always difficult. He wished he never have to leave Sam and his beloved Shire, but he knew better. Unless he took this course, he would never heal and Sam would always be torn in halves.

It was nearly evening and stars were glimmering in the eastern sky when they finally entered the woods of the Shire.

Frodo stirred in his saddle, feeling the words of a song rising within him. As they traveled deeper into the woods, he began to sing softly to himself, and the words drew Sam from his reverie, for they were familiar and yet different:

Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate

And though I oft have passed them by

A day will come at last when I

Shall take the hidden paths that run

West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

Sam shivered. It was the same walking song but the changed words hinted of last travels and final farewells. It was a song that held deeper meanings; Elvish meanings and he couldn't help but wondered why Frodo sang it.

Then to his ears came fair voices, singing, as though in reply:

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

We still remember, we who dwell

In this far land beneath the trees

The starlight on the Western Seas.

As Sam watched in wonder, a procession of Elves came out of the mists along the tree-lined path, fair and stately.

Elrond rode at the head of the procession. He wore a mantle of gray and a star upon his forehead. In his hands, he played a silver harp and on his finger, glittered Vilya, the Ring of Air. Next to him rode Galadriel, much to Sam's amazement, robed all in glimmering white and Nenya, the Ring of Water, sat upon her finger like starlight.

The procession stopped before the two hobbits. And to Sam's surprised delight, Bilbo was with them as well, nodding in sleep as he rode upon a small gray pony.

"Greetings, Master Baggins and Master Gamgee." Elrond greeted them gravely but graciously. He turned his ancient yet ageless gaze to Frodo. "You have decided to join us."

"Join you?" Sam cried out, though he finally understood where his master was going. Still he had to ask, "Where are you going, Mr. Frodo?"

"To the Havens, Sam, and beyond to the Blessed Realm."

"And I can't come?" It was more of a statement than a question, really.

Clear blue eyes, like the color of a morning sky, weary but calm, gazed at him tenderly. "No, I'm afraid not. At least not yet."

"The Days of the Rings of Power are over," Galadriel said with a melancholy but kindly smile. "As it is for the time of the Firstborn. The Fourth Age must be free of burdens to decide its course and for that, we must leave, as do the Ring-bearers."

"But there are still things for you to do," Frodo told Sam. His clear blue gaze became distant, as though seeing far into the horizon. "The Shire still needs you and you have a long plentiful life still laid out before you."

Frodo placed a comforting hand on his downcast friend's shoulder. "But you were a Ring-bearer once, even if for a brief time. When your life is full, you can come as well to the Havens and sail to the West. I'll be waiting for you, Sam."

"I know that, Mr. Frodo. It's just that I can't help thinking I should be with you."

Frodo laughed. "And you will, Sam. You will. But not now, when you are still torn in two. Live your life and be content."

His laugh faded, to be replaced by a wistful smile. "I wish I can stay. I can stay but I will not heal. I've been wounded too deeply. I have saved the Shire but not for me, I realized long ago. So I travel to the West, to find peace and healing."

"And when you deem it's time, I await your ship at the shores of Valinor." His smile turned bright. "But for now, ride with me!"

They rode on, with Elrond and Galadriel leading the procession, and the hobbits rode behind them, traveling through the Shire: a procession of the fair Elf-kind, shining and glimmering with a light of their own. Many of the High Elves had joined this procession and by the presence of their very beings, they cast a sort of magic about themselves, veiling their passage to all mortals' eyes and ears as they took the twilight paths.

None saw them, save the wild creatures and trees that watched their passing in silent farewell. Or the occasional lone traveler, who might glimpse a shimmer through the foliage, or a light and shadow that flowed across the fields, and dismissed them as tricks of the eye.

As they traveled through the countryside, Galadriel sang, her clear crystal voice lifted the hymn to Elbereth high into the air to the silvery music of Elrond's harp.

A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!

silivren penna míriel

o menel aglar elenath

Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!

Clear Elven voices joined Galadriel's in the hymn to Elbereth, fair to hear and moving to the heart. For they sang of sadness at leaving the Middle-earth, sadness blessed and without bitterness, and they sang of bliss they would find in the West.

Thus it seemed to Sam that the journey was made in a song - slow, stately, in twilight, yet he was conscious of the days that passed. He sat upon his pony, silent and wondrous, as he listened to the haunting hymn of the Elves. Beside him, Frodo was quiet as well for the song spoke to the feelings in his heart.

With their fair voices, the Elves bid farewell to the land that nurtured them for so long, though none would hear, but the earth and the trees. It seemed to Sam that only the land but not the people knew of their leaving, and only wild creatures and growing green things mourned their passing. And in his heart, Sam was sad for he thought everyone, from all races, should know and witness the Elves' leaving. For such fair beings would never grace Middle-earth again.

When they reached Havens, Sam saw a tall figure standing beside Shadowfax, dressed all in white, and his sorrow deepened. It was Gandalf, who wore openly Narya, the Ring of Fire, the Third Elven Ring of Power, and Sam knew without a doubt that his old friend was taking ship as well.

"Don't be sad, Sam." Frodo soothed when he saw the tears on his friend's face.

"You're all leaving, Mr. Frodo. How can I not weep with grief?"

"It is not farewell forever, Sam. We will meet again, in the lands of Valinor. Till that time, you have friends who can share your grief."

"And right he is, Sam," quipped a new voice.

Sam blinked. Through his tears, he saw Pippin and Merry hurrying hastily towards them, breathless as though they had ran all the way to the Havens from the Shire.

"You tried to give us the slip once, cousin." Merry said smugly. "You didn't succeed then and certainly not now either, thanks to Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled. "Yes, I did, for the best. Sorrow shared is sorrow halved, as the saying goes. Well, here we stand, the end of the fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace, dear hobbits. Weep if you have to: not all tears are an evil. Someday, if Eru allows, perhaps we shall meet again."

Sam dried his tears, mustering a smile for his beloved master. "Take care, Mr. Frodo. And wait for me."

"I will, dear Sam." Frodo smiled, a wide gentle smile. And turning to the suddenly somber Pippin and Merry, he bid them farewell.

With Gandalf by his side, Frodo boarded the white ship and went to where Elrond and Galadriel stood, at the stern facing the pier.

The Elven hymn to Elbereth changed, a subtle uplift to hopefulness and joy, as the white ships unfurled their sails and set off on their final journey.

A! Elbereth!

(We still remember)

Gilthoniel!

(We who dwell)

A! Elbereth!

(In this far land)

Gilthoniel!

(Beneath the trees)

The starlight on the Western Seas.

(Beneath the trees)

The starlight on the Western Seas.

(Beneath the trees)

Frodo kept his gaze fixed on the harbor where his cherished friends stood. From his pocket, he took out the phial of Galadriel and held it aloft, its white light bidding farewell to his home.

As the evening deepened to darkness, the three hobbits remained at the pier, watching the star of farewell traveling further and further from them, until even its brightness disappeared into the night.

Then solemnly, silently, they turned away and never looking back, returned to the Shire and their lives.