Upon an evening when the moon was fresh, and the stars glittered in the sky like sapphires, the world was at a halt. All souls were sleeping in their warm, cozy beds, besides one – one small hobbit stood upon the crest of a hill, where he wrapped his cloak further about him when the wind blew chill. He heard the calling of the Oceanus sea – heard the mourning of his soul in wishes to be free. The crescent moon reflected in the now pale blue eyes, where pools of tears sat doomed to fall. A pain of loneliness and longing lingered in the depths of this hobbit’s soul, as he listened to the distant roaring of the sea’s calm waves. All the grass was dark and green in the night air, where dewdrops lay unnoticed on the earth. The entire Shire could be seen from the hill the hobbit stood upon, and in the distance a pale light shone from the horizon, to the west, and a soft song reached his ears.

Then, his eyes wandered down to the hobbit holes beneath the hill. Smoke made its way out of many of the inviting homes. Indeed, it was rather cold that night, and he pulled the cloak tighter about his shoulders. The Shire was his home, was what his mind said, and also did his Sam. “The Shire is like a harmony, Frodo, and you are the melody. Without the melody, what purpose does the other have? How will it sing?” Deep down, he knew that this wise hobbit was talking about himself rather than the Shire.

A tear slid down his delicate features. How could it come to this – this unrelenting sorrow he felt? The Shire was rebuilt, and the new party tree was – in the few years of its young life – tall and strong. Everything seemed to be one and whole again. Sam was wed to Rose, and Eleanor was days on her way. But, where Frodo’s completeness was, he knew was not here; in the place he wished most to stay in, yet wished to flee from.

The truth always seemed to dawn upon him unrepentantly. He had to leave the Shire, to be whole – and to live. He needed to live for Sam, as Sam needed to live for him. One day their paths would once again meet, for the last time. He would be healed of his scars and the burdens the Ring had left him, and there, in the great land of Valinor, he could live a life of peace with his friend forever. When his time came.

Silently, and with one last look to the west, the hobbit turned around as a silhouette to the dark sky. The soft light of the stars seemed to illuminate his presence as the wind brought in invisible waves of silk around the hobbit, and a warm song played tenderly from the west. His time had come.

“To the Sea! To the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away the round sun is falling…”

~The Return of the King p.935