Riding past Overhill, Bolco came north of The Hill and turned in towards Bag End. Frodo, out in the garden, heard the hoof beats, and was waiting by the gate when Bolco arrived.
"Welcome, lad. It's good to see you. You're looking well."
"Thank you, Mayor. It's good to see you too, sir. "
"Have you been up to Long Cleeve again?"
"Yes, sir. "
"You look happy. Another good visit?"
"Yes, sir."
"Splendid. Can you spare some time, and join me for Second Breakfast? Why don't you unsaddle Stormy, and give him a rest out in the paddock for a while?"
"Yes, thank you, sir." Bolco dismounted, unsaddled Stormy and turned him out, and then joined Frodo. They wandered slowly into the gardens, Frodo chatting about the coming fruit harvest and which trees looked to be ready first, carefully watching Bolco as he spoke. Bolco hadn't made up his mind where he would spend the fruit harvest yet, though, so he simply listened and waited, nodding politely. But when Frodo seemed quite finished, Bolco looked around.
"I haven't seen Master Sam yet, sir. Is he about?"
"He's working on his restoration efforts. He'll be back around sunset. Don't worry, Rosie has everything in hand while he's gone, " Frodo smiled.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you swim while you were up north?"
Bolco smiled, and with a shy eagerness, told the Mayor about Toradoc's endorsement of his swimming skills, Toradoc's storytelling, the brothers' eagerness to learn, and his hesitant but proud father, and of the swimming lessons, and Toradoc joining him for a half mile on the second and third day.
Frodo studied Bolco. His delight in Toradoc's company, especially during the swim, was readily apparent; so much so that Frodo almost wished he could offer Bolco the same. But Frodo's love of the water was all about crossing it in boats, and chilly immersion held no real interest for him. He held his peace.
The conversation lulled, and then Bolco dreamily spoke again. "Evendim was haunting. "
Frodo waited.
"I like the river. It's lovely, with all its different voices, and the flow of the water around the banks and the rocks. I even like the turbulence near the dam and the water wheel. I like the way it moves slowly, with motion on the surface even when there's no wind. There's something gentle about it, I guess, something predictable and comfortable and trustable. But Evendim..." Bolco shook his head. "Evendim goes from perfectly still in the morning, like a mirror, to breezy and invigorating after second breakfast, and then in the afternoon, sometimes it just gets wild. Sometimes there's no knowing what it will do. Sometimes at night, it's as wild as afternoon; and sometimes it's as still as the morning, and mirrors the stars. You never know."
Frodo smiled. "Are you ever tempted to return there, and be near the lake again?"
A hint of longing flickered across Bolco's face and was gone. And then he nodded. "I'm tempted, yes."
"But you don't go."
"Until recently, fear of my family kept me away from it."
"But not any more."
"No." Bolco sighed. "But while I was at my home, I missed Lilac so, I kept looking forward to coming back to the Westfarthing."
Frodo waited.
"The morning that we spoke here in your garden, and I left to go and see Daffodil before I went to work, when we finished breakfast, Missus Pansy told me that the afternoon before, a visitor had dropped by, and stayed for tea, and waited for Tom and I to return from the fields. It was Lilac, sir."
Frodo could hardly contain his surprise. "It was?"
Bolco nodded, studying the Mayor's face, hoping somehow to see answers there to yet unasked questions. Frodo waited, though, so Bolco continued. He decided not to mention the vase, because he didn't want the Mayor thinking badly of Lilac for having broken it.
"So I missed seeing her, sir. But the next morning, I rode to The Smials, and left a vase of flowers for her. And the next morning, when I returned, the vase was empty of flowers, but full of fresh water, waiting. I left more flowers for her. And every morning after that, it was the same, until I left for Long Cleeve."
"The flowers disappear, but the vase is full of fresh water every morning."
"Full to the brim, sir."
There was a long silence during which Frodo compared this story with Bolco's previous dilemma, and studied Bolco. Bolco looked happy, hopeful, he had color, he had a light in his eyes. And yet Frodo wondered whether something was still amiss. He waited, and eventually Bolco hesitantly spoke again.
"I still don't know, sir, whether I should still try to forget her. But realistically, I can't. I have more hope now than I've had since I came back. I prayed hard about it up at Long Cleeve, and I know she still, I still have the wrong center. The Creator is still outside my center and Lilac is in it. But I can't walk away from this, from her, now. And so I just, I just talked to the Creator, and asked him-- I mean, I asked the Creator to take charge of the whole problem."
"You tried to... I beg your pardon? I don't understand."
Bolco grimaced, suddenly wondering if he had disappointed the Mayor, and struggled to express it. "I told the Creator how confused I was; that I knew he should be at my center, and not Lilac, and that I wanted him to be, or I wanted to desire that, I think, and that I didn't know how to make him my center and not Lilac; I told him that I loved her, and that I couldn't stop pursuing her and that I had hope now, but that-- that-- that I wanted him to win, " he ended rather lamely.
Frodo stared, uncomprehending.
"I don't understand it either, sir, " Bolco apologized, further deepening in his misery that he had disappointed the Mayor, and beginning to wonder whether he should have come to Bag End at all today. But he would have had to tell the Mayor at some point, he reasoned. He braced himself for rejection or rebuke; neither came.
"What do you mean, " Frodo asked softly, "by, you wanted him to win?"
Bolco grimaced. "There's a story, " he said, but then shook his head and decided to try and change the subject. "It doesn't matter. How are your vegetable gardens doing?"
"Fine, " said Frodo. "What story were you referring to?"
"One that a friend told me once. How is Tom Cotton these days?"
"He's fine, I suppose, I haven't seen him lately. Please, Bolco, " Frodo said quietly, "I would like to hear the story."
Why did I ever bring it up, Bolco thought. I don't want to tell that story. Suddenly I'm afraid I'm going to get pummeled when God wins. I'm afraid of that story.
Frodo waited.
"There's a story, " Bolco began miserably, "in the land of men where I stayed, that there was a man named Jacob once. Long ago. And Jacob was stubborn and went his own way, and did his own will, and made his own trouble, I suppose. But the Creator had blessed his father and grandfather before him, and he wanted to bless Jacob too. But Jacob wouldn't let him, wouldn't surrender to him. And so one night, the Creator came."
Frodo's eyes grew wide.
"The story gets confusing at that point, " Bolco struggled. "At first, it says that a man wrestled with Jacob. Another version says that it was an angel, which perhaps is rather like an elvish sort of being with wings... I think... But, but at the end of the story, it becomes clear that it was actually the Creator. They wrestled all night, Jacob and this man, or angel, or God; and when the night was over, the-- the wrestler touched Jacob's hip and made him lame. And then Jacob said to the wrestler, I will not let you go until you bless me."
Frodo waited.
"So the wrestler blessed him, " Bolco spread his hands and shrugged. "Even after making him lame. And then the wrestler named Jacob, Israel, saying that Jacob had wrestled with the Creator and with men, and had prevailed."
"Jacob prevailed? Even after he was made lame? Prevailed against Iluvatar?"
"It doesn't make sense, does it?" Bolco said with frustration. "And yet, perhaps the prevailing was in asking for the blessing. I don't know. Jake always said that the Creator let Jacob win, like a father lets his child win. I suppose the way I let Daffodil win at Tag, or Tickling."
Bolco leaned on the table and put his head in one hand, avoiding the Mayor's eyes.
The Mayor was considering what he had heard. "Jake. He was your friend you mentioned before, wasn't he?"
"My good friend. He was named after Jacob, so he liked the story quite a bit." Bolco thought of Jake, and wondered what advice, if any, Jake would have given him about Lilac.
There was a long silence, and then Frodo spoke. "Last time you were here, Bolco, I promised to tell you a story."
Bolco cautiously looked around to meet the Mayor's gaze, and was surprised by the clouds he saw in his eyes. The Mayor was far away and troubled. Bolco sat up straight and wondered how to respond, but before he decided, the Mayor spoke again, very softly.
"I'm going to tell you about my part in the war."
Bolco's curiosity surged up and mixed with a host of other emotions, excitement, anticipation, and relief that he would finally learn about the war; all of which he controlled; he sat very still, though his eyes sparkled, and all he quietly said was, "Yes please, sir."
The Mayor took a deep breath, pondering.
"It has to do with my uncle, Bilbo, whom you had never met, I believe. But it actually goes back quite a ways. I wonder how far back I should start."
Bolco waited.
"When my uncle was fifty years old he went on a long journey. A quest, actually; a fascinating and most entertaining adventure. But I won't tell you all about it, although I would love to; perhaps another time. But there was a certain part of his journey that became terribly important to me, and to many others, and I think I should begin there."
In much the same manner that Bilbo recited the story at the Council of Elrond, Frodo echoed the tale of Bilbo's meeting with Gollum, and the finding of the Ring. But at the end of the riddle game, as Gollum began his pursuit of Bilbo down the passages, with Bilbo following behind, Frodo paused in the telling. "My uncle did escape, and find his friends again," he continued, "and the rest of his adventure, as I said, is absolutely marvelous. But I want to tell you about Gollum."
"Go on, please, sir."
"Gollum, or Smeagol as I later knew him, was terribly old. He was bony and withered and leathery and terribly worn by the passage of the years. He had lived in the tunnels for perhaps five hundred years. He could swim very skillfully, and handle a boat with ease. He knew the tunnels quite well in the dark. He could avoid-- or catch-- the goblins easily because he was stealthy and clever. He was twisted, and apt to evil; he was worn, thin, wiry. He was a frightening, and rather repulsive creature, hissing and gurgling in his throat. He was dangerous, with long thin fingers that could strangle or twist whoever he could catch from behind, and indeed, he did not mind eating whatever he could strangle. As you recall from the story, he threatened to catch and eat my uncle."
Bolco shuddered. Whatever he might think of Mad Baggins-- and he really did not know what to think-- he was very glad that Baggins had escaped grasping Gollum, who sounded like a terrifying and loathsome evil, belonging in the Barrow Downs someplace.
"His eyes could see in the dark, indeed he hated light, and it hurt his eyes; his sense of smell was finely tuned. Sometimes he seemed more like a reptile, perhaps, than a hobbit. But he was, indeed, a hobbit. Or... he had been once."
The horror in Bolco's eyes satisfied Frodo that he had made his first point, and he continued.
"So, one must ask, what brought Gollum to this state of misery? What took a hobbit from the Gladden Fields, made him an enemy of all who had loved him, drove him underground, gave him a hatred of the light, made him afraid of and repulsed by all things elvish-- something I did not learn ‘til later; what made him so wretched as to be willing to eat his own kind? One thing; one thing that he loved and hated, cherished and loathed. The Ring. The very ring that my uncle had found, and placed in his pocket. Gollum's own precious Ring was what devoured and twisted him."
"A ring did all that, sir?"
"It was a ring of power, " Frodo said simply. "It was forged by the Dark Lord Sauron as a fell weapon, intended to dominate and subvert and destroy. And its power had not faded. The extent of that power was unknown to Gollum except that he grew so terribly fond of the Ring, and perceived it as a thing of great beauty and worth; useful for becoming invisible, but beyond that, for unknown reasons precious simply for its own sake. It possessed him utterly."
Bolco, sitting in the sunlight, felt chilly and uneasy.
"My uncle knew none of this, " Frodo continued. "He carried the ring for sixty one years. He did not age during that time, but no one knew why. Bilbo often used the Ring to avoid unwelcome visitors," here Frodo smiled sadly, "but other than that, he simply liked the Ring as a thing of beauty and value. It became precious also to him. When Bilbo left me his estate, he grew rather reluctant at the thought of passing the Ring on to me, but in the end, with some encouragement from Bilbo's very good friend Gandalf, he freely did so. And so the Ring passed to me.
"My uncle left, then, and went on more journeys, and finally settled in Rivendell. He is there now, happy and content. I stayed home, in the Shire, with the Ring in my pocket on a chain, for another seventeen years. Gandalf had warned me never to use it, never to put it on, to hide it and keep it safe. I was occasionally tempted to put it on, but Gandalf's warning stayed with me, and I never did.
"After those seventeen years, in April, I had an important visit from Gandalf. He brought me some very troubling news. The Dark Lord of Mordor, Sauron, was once again growing in power, and moving against the free peoples of Middle Earth. The Ring that I had, in my pocket, was the One Ring that he had forged to subjugate the world. To prove that to me, Gandalf heated it in my fireplace to show the runes, and indeed it was true. The Dark Lord needed the Ring to make his power complete. He was looking for it. And if he found it, his victory was certain.
"We agreed that it must be destroyed rather than let it be found by the Dark Lord. But I did not realize how terribly difficult that would be. Gandalf challenged me that day to throw the Ring into my fireplace, as he had done in order to determine whether it was indeed the Ruling Ring. And I accepted his challenge, thinking it would be easily done." Frodo grew pensive. "I remember holding the ring in my hand, reviewing how evil it was, what a dreadful weapon it was, what a terrible danger it presented to the Shire and all my loved ones, and how it must be destroyed; and even as I thought these things in my mind, I remembered how beautiful it was, how round, how fair, how glossy the gold was, how precious it was. And as I made myself throw the Ring-- I thought-- into the fire, I heard Gandalf laughing softly. I had simply put the Ring back into my pocket. I could not bring myself to hurt it. Not even then." Frodo looked at Bolco, and repeated, "Not even then. It already had a hold on me."
Bolco thought of Gollum, and began to worry about the Mayor, but the Mayor continued his story.
"The Dark Lord, Sauron, had captured Gollum, and learned from him that his ruling Ring-- once thought lost-- was in fact, in the possession of one named Baggins, in a place called the Shire. Gollum was referring to my uncle, not to me, but since he did not know my uncle's first name, that did not matter. The Dark Lord sent his servants, Black Riders, nine powerfully evil and terrifying wraiths, out to find the Ring, or to find me. I knew I was sought for, but I had no idea by what or whom. I reluctantly made some arrangements, and tarried too long, but eventually I did leave, unaware how close behind me the dreadful danger was following. I was joined by Sam, Merry and Pippin, much to my great benefit and their travail; they willingly came with me into terrible peril, far greater than any of us could have guessed or imagined.
"We narrowly evaded pursuit the very night we left. One Black Rider was inquiring at The Gaffers' door, " Frodo sat up and pointed towards Number Three Bagshot Row as Bolco's eyes bulged in horror, "as we took the Garden path and down towards Tookland and Green Hill country. I heard the Gaffer talking with someone, but we had no understanding of the evil we so narrowly escaped. We were further pursued along the way, through Woody End, and at the time I began to realize that the Ring was drawing them somehow. They missed us at CrickHollow; Fatty Bolger wisely fled from them and roused Buckland, but they departed in the night.
"We fled through the Old Forest, finding other enemies, but also wonderful new friends as well. Tom Bombadil and lovely Goldberry were our hosts, and they sang such songs as refreshed the spirit and body both. "
"The Old Forest?" asked Bolco, intrigued. He had always been a little curious about that place. "Is it really dark, or just mysterious?"
"There is darkness there, as well as good, " Frodo said. "It is not a place to travel lightly. I would certainly not go exploring there except in dire need, as we did. The Black Riders were a greater peril than anything in the wood, but still, we only narrowly escaped the forests' malice."
Bolco accepted his warning.
"Tom kept us ‘til we were rested. It was in the safety and comfort of Tom's house that I foolishly first put on the Ring. I never had until then. Tom had playfully put it on and it did not affect him, and I was so astonished-- and rather concerned in case it had somehow been exchanged-- that I tried it on myself. I, however, did disappear. It was, in fact, the one Ring.
"After that, Tom taught us a song to sing in order to call for help, should we find danger within his range."
"A song to call for help?" Bolco asked.
"Yes, a strange, seemingly childish and nonsensical song, like many of Tom's songs; but it held great power, " Frodo mused, and then considered Bolco and thought of his singing, and wondered why he had never compared Bolco's singing with Tom's, and whether there were similarities there. "Rested and refreshed, we continued our journey. We soon passed through the Barrow Downs, but not without mishap."
"The Barrow Downs!" Bolco gasped, horrified. That evil was closer, and more real, to him than all of Mordor's dark rumors put together.
"Yes, " Frodo nodded. "We lost our way, confused and I think entranced in the fog, and then we were held captive. It was terrifying, " he admitted, noticing that Bolco was wide-eyed and stiff with fear. "I woke from a trance, and saw Merry, Pippin, and Sam lying as if dead, with a naked sword resting across their throats, and a hand coming towards the sword-hilt, to wield it and finish them off. At first I was frozen with terror, and was sorely tempted to put the ring on and escape, but finally I got up, and taking up a sword, severed the hand, and then remembered the song Tom had taught us. He came at once, and drove out the Wight from the barrow altogether, breaking its power."
"I didn't know that could be done!" Bolco said, and Frodo nodded.
"Tom's power is beyond my understanding, but Gandalf respects him a great deal, " Frodo mused. "He can do much that we do not understand, I think. The evil of the Ring did not seem to affect him at all. Or impress him either."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You will understand better as the story continues, " Frodo replied. "The Ring had seductive power over others beside the one who carries it. But not over Tom Bombadil.
"We left the Barrow Downs behind, and continued to Bree, hoping to meet Gandalf there. He had been detained. Accidentally, foolishly, I put the Ring on again that night, " Frodo recalled, shaking his head. "I was singing, and making a fool of myself, with my hand in my pocket, and I fell, and it slipped onto my finger. And the Riders were drawn to it, drawn to the Ring as soon as I put it on. They came to find me.
"Before they arrived, however, we met up with Gandalf's friend Strider, Aragorn. Aragorn was a ranger then; he is King of Gondor and Arnor now. He knew what I carried, and he offered to guide us, and we finally trusted him. Aragorn kept us out of our rooms, in a parlor. Merry, out walking, saw one of the Riders, and fell senseless to the ground; Aragorn called that The Black Breath. Nob found Merry and returned him to us. That night, the Riders returned, and ransacked our bedroom, slicing through the bedclothes with their swords. But it was our great good fortune that Aragorn had kept us in the parlor and not let us go back to our rooms, and we escaped the Black Riders yet again."
"They sound horrible, " Bolco said, finding this all rather difficult to grasp.
"They were horrible. They were once nine kings, mortal men, to whom Sauron had given each a subordinate Ring of power. They had become slaves to him, undead, immortal but lifeless, terrifying wraiths. Their chief weapons were terror and despair, and they wielded them with overwhelming power. Few have ever withstood them. Aragorn is one who has; his strength of will is astounding. And Merry, " Frodo said with a smile, "has a magnificent story as well, or perhaps Pippin would do Merry's valor more justice... You should ask him to tell you. But back to Bree. Aragorn led us, then, into the wilderness, in order to make for Rivendell. And for a while we made good time. We wondered where Gandalf was, and we hoped to meet him at Weathertop, an old tower partway to Rivendell. So we made for Weathertop."
Frodo paused, and seemed to Bolco hesitant to go on, holding some sort of internal debate. Bolco waited. The Mayor shifted in his seat, brushed his hand over his eyes, and with an effort continued the story.
"They found us there, " he said simply. His eyes were faraway. "Sam and the others tried to stand by me, but when the Riders confronted me, all I could think was that I should take out the Ring, and put it on. I did not clearly know why. I simply pulled it out, and put it on my finger. And then Sam and my friends could see me no longer, but I could see the Black Riders. They were horrible, " said the Mayor, looking grey and sick, "and they filled me with deep dread and despair. I tried to resist them, but in the end, they pierced my shoulder with a Morgul blade. Aragorn and the others drove them off with burning brands from the fire, and they left us then, but pursued us, waiting for me to succumb to the wound. The Morgul blade left a poisoned tip in my shoulder, which would remain after the wound had closed, and work its way inward toward my heart. We barely reached the fords leading to Rivendell, when they caught up with us, and Elrond and Gandalf caused the River to rise up, and drown the horses of the Black Riders, and so for a time we had a respite from their pursuit. By the time we arrived at Rivendell, the Morgul blade tip had penetrated almost to my heart. Elrond removed it, saving my life. I would have been lost, enslaved to the wraiths, if it had penetrated all the way."
"How horrible, " Bolco shuddered, closely watching the Mayor. "I'm so sorry."
The Mayor shook himself with a great effort, and gently brushed off Bolco's obvious concern. "I'm fine, " he said, not convincing Bolco at all.
"Rivendell was wonderful, " he continued, smiling, bravely at first. "Gandalf was there, of course. And Elrond. And I saw Bilbo again soon." Now the Mayor began to relax a little and the smile became real. "He had aged, a great deal, since he no longer had the Ring, but he had been working on his book, and on translations from the Elvish, and writing songs. We talked, reminiscing about old times, and he told me about Rivendell, and gave me lots of advice on what not to miss. And he was right, of course. The singing there is unequaled, and the richness of the lore and wisdom stored there is astounding. Those were sweet days.
"Not long after I woke, Elrond called a council. Many envoys had arrived, elves, men and dwarves, and the council convened to decide what would be done with the Ring. In the end, it was decided that the Ring should be taken to Mordor, and cast into the volcano in which it was made. And I was chosen to carry it there."
"To Mordor??" Bolco gasped, horrified.
"Yes, " Frodo replied wearily. "To Mordor. " He sighed. "Eight more companions were chosen to go with me, as far as they could or until fate separated us: Sam, of course, and Merry and Pippin; and Gandalf, and Aragorn; Legolas; Gimli the dwarf; and Boromir, a man of Gondor."
"To Mordor, " Bolco murmured, still in disbelief, shaking his head. "There was no other way?"
"No, " replied the Mayor. "None. It had to be destroyed. And a small company was thought to have a far better chance to slip in unobserved than a large one. So we set off." Frodo studied Bolco, who looked very confused. He would have liked to go into more detail, but somehow, he was weary and dispirited, and was missing Sam's presence badly.
"I shall spare you much of the story, " he continued. "We left Rivendell, and traveled through many dangerous places, trying to get across the Misty Mountains. We finally went under them, through the Mines of Moria. There we lost Gandalf the Grey in a terrible battle with a demon Balrog."
Bolco realised that he had not seen nor heard of Gandalf since he came back to the Shire. Stunned horror spread across his face.
"He's fine now, " Frodo reassured him immediately. "I did not learn until the war had ended, that Gandalf returned as Gandalf the White, and fought long and hard in the war, doing great deeds of renown and valor, and guiding many with his wise counsel. He is alive and well and more himself than ever, " Frodo reassured Bolco, who swallowed hard and nodded.
"Nevertheless, we did not know that at the time. It was a horrible loss to us, as a company, and still more to each of us as friends. But after the loss of Gandalf, the Ring's corrupting power began to manifest itself more and more. I realised that no one in the company was safe. The Ring itself was the company's greatest danger. We passed through Lorien, and my concerns were confirmed by The Lady Galadriel."
"Who is she?"
"The Lady of Lorien, a high-elf of great power and ancient wisdom. She gave us welcome, and rest, and council and hope, and many gifts. Many gifts, " Frodo repeated softly, looking out over the gardens at the Mallorn tree growing in the Party field.
"We traveled down the Anduin river. " Frodo suddenly stopped, and stood. "I should bring out a map. It's too difficult to follow this story without one. Wait here, lad."
Frodo went inside, and Bolco stood and stretched, breathing deep and shaking himself. The tension had already gotten to him, and his heart was fearful and heavy. He hummed, seeking the Creator, and looked out over the Hill and down to the water. He heard Stormy snorting in the paddock below Frodo's gate. He tried to relax.
Frodo returned with a parchment map, and spread it out across the table, and pointed, tracing the route. "Starting in September: from the Shire, to Buckland, through the Old Forest, through the Barrow Downs, to Weathertop-- that was October; to The Fords of Bruinien, to Rivendell by October 25. We left Rivendell on December 25, and struggled against the mountains for a while, finally passing under them; Gandalf was lost here. We continued down the Dimrill Dale, to Lorien, where we rested for a month. They gave us boats; we traveled down the Anduin, to... here. Just above the Falls of Rauros."
Frodo sat back, and sighed, and Bolco tore his eyes from the map-- something was bothering him about it, but there was too much to think about right now, so he thrust it aside, whatever it was-- and saw Frodo farther away than ever. A tear formed in his eye and rested against his eyelid, glimmering in the sun, but it did not fall.
"On the mountain of Amon Hen, the Ring's corrupting power proved too strong for one of my companions. The man from Gondor tried to take the ring from me by force. I had to put it on to escape from him-- he was far stronger than I. I fled from him, and ran to the boats, and took one, intending to cross the river and go to Mordor. I knew that I had to go on alone."
"Alone!" Bolco exploded in disbelief.
Frodo smiled, and the tear finally fell. "Sam did not think so either, Bolco. He chased me, and swam after me. Or he tried. He didn't get far. I had to pull him out of the water like a drowned rat. And then he talked me into letting him come too. Or rather, he threatened to knock holes in all the boats if I didn't bring him." Frodo laughed, a few more tears fell, and then he sobered.
"We crossed the river, leaving the rest of the company behind. Boromir relented after I left him, but I did not know until much later. He died honorably and valiantly that day, after a terrible battle defending Merry and Pippin from orcs. Merry and Pippin were taken captive. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli arrived too late to save Boromir or prevent the capture of Merry and Pippin; they pursued the orcs afterward. Some day, you should ask Pippin and Merry to tell you their story for themselves."
Bolco nodded, stunned and overwhelmed. He shook himself free of the sudden panic he had felt about the orcs; Pippin was obviously healthy and well. "Go on, sir."
"Sam and I traveled several days over barren rocks-- the Emyn Muil, " Frodo leaned back over the map pointing, "and when we finally found a way down, we realised that we were being pursued. Smeagol, Gollum, had in fact been pursuing us ever since the Mines of Moria. And at the foot of the Emyn Muil, he found us."
Apparently Gollum hadn't eaten either of them, or killed them off, but Frodo had gotten pensive again. Bolco waited.
But Frodo sank deep in thought, and while he had obviously not forgotten Bolco, neither was he comfortable continuing at the moment. After a while Frodo sat up, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Bolco, my thoughts are rather scattered. Let me look at the map a moment..." He sighed. Tapping the map, he resumed. "Gollum found us here. Sam and I subdued him, luckily, and got a promise out of him that he would not harm us, but that he would serve us. Or rather, serve me. He promised by the ring, a promise which I knew he would be bound by, and since I carried it, he was therefore bound to me. His promise held well for a while.
"Seeing Smeagol that day changed me. I knew that he had struggled against the ring in the same way I had; I knew that he loved it and hated it, in the same way that I did. Although Gandalf had assured me that this was so, I had to look into Gollum's eyes before I believed him fully. But it was true. I felt sometimes that I was looking into a warped and twisted mirror at an image of myself; and I found myself wondering if someday a perfect mirror would show me Gollum's face as my very own."
Bolco suddenly sat cross-legged in his chair, leaned his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands, wringing them absentmindedly. Frodo, jarred out of his own reverie, saw that the lad was trying hard to keep his face emotionless, with only moderate success. Frodo gazed at him, puzzled, wondering whether to ask.
"Go on, sir, " Bolco tightly prompted, wringing his hands still.
Frodo decided not to pry. Talking to Eru again, I shouldn't wonder, Frodo thought. Perhaps I'll ask him to sing when I finish; it will do us both good. He continued. "Such thoughts did increase my resolve to destroy the thing, " he continued, looking at the bright side. "In that way, Smeagol was a constant reminder of the importance of the quest. He guided Sam and me through the Dead Marshes, and through Dagorlad to the Black Gate, and I intended to go into Mordor there. Smeagol convinced me to turn south, " pointing at the map again, " and travel through Ithilien, and come to the crossroads and turn east. He said there was a pass through the mountains there. He was right; there was.
"As we were approaching the pass, he left us, and returned quite a bit later. We wondered where he had gone, but we had other concerns; there were troop movements that we had to avoid, and Black Riders leading them. The danger was great. We escaped notice, and followed Smeagol until he disappeared again. We walked right into the trap that he had laid for us. He had an ally there that we knew nothing of. Her name, " Frodo shuddered, "was Shelob, and she was a monstrous spider. We were caught at first by her web, but Sting cut through that. When we were through the web, I ran foolishly forward, ahead of Sam, and she caught me then. Her venom was swift and thorough; she bound me, Sam says, and was beginning to drag me off. Sam was busy fighting Gollum off, who had come to take the ring once the spider had finished me off for him. But Sam ruined his plans." Frodo summoned a smile, and then a laugh. "Sam fought Gollum off, and then came after Shelob, and bless him, he wounded her and drove her off, or she would have certainly been the death of me." Frodo's eyes shone and he laughed for a moment more, and then he quieted, and said softly, "But the venom was so strong, that Sam really thought I was dead. He waited by my side a while, and then realised that he had to continue the quest alone. So he took everything he would need; Sting, my elven-glass, and yes, he took the ring. And he composed my body, and went on as best he could. The orcs found me as he had laid me, under the cliff, composed and still. But unlike Sam, the orcs knew that I wasn't dead. They took me captive."
"No, " Bolco choked.
"Sam saw them, and came back for me. He couldn't abide the thought of the orcs taking my body. And as he listened to them arguing, he heard them saying that I wasn't dead, just poisoned. But he couldn't get to me, not for a full day. He tried and tried. I didn't know he was anywhere near, when I awoke; all I knew was that I had been stripped of everything, and questioned until I was at the edge of my sanity. But they took everything I had. Since I no longer had the ring, I assumed they took that too, and that the quest had completely failed, and the darkness would consume everything and everyone.
"When Sam found me, rescued and freed me, and told me he had the ring safely in his keeping, I should have been grateful. For a moment I was."
Frodo sat back, and met Bolco's eyes. "For a moment. And then I was consumed with desire for the ring and fury that someone else had it. I took that fury out on him, on my beloved and dear Sam. And do you know, Bolco, he surrendered the ring to me again at that moment? Immediately and willingly, humbly and gently, as I railed at him in fear and hatred."
Frozen in horror, Bolco thought about Gollum again, and Frodo confirmed his thoughts.
"Now I knew, " Frodo continued, "how Gollum felt each step of our journey. Consumed with desire for the ring; filled with hatred and jealousy that someone else had it, and blind to anything else but the desire and the hatred, and the fear of not getting it back. And he lived that way for weeks, months, years before he found us, hopelessly pursuing his lost love, his precious. Poor, miserable Smeagol.
"And I knew, more than ever, that the ring had a terrible power over me, to enable me to blindly devastate my dear and loyal friend, my poor Sam, even as he was saving my life and preserving the quest. The fit passed, and I saw what I had done to him. He forgave me that instant, but I have never forgotten the look in his eyes."
Bolco found himself blinking back tears, and like Jake, blindly storming the Creator's throne: You have to help him, you must, you must. He saw Frodo flinch when he accidentally cracked his knuckles. "I'm sorry, sir." He clenched his fists instead.
Through a haze of aches and pains, wraiths, ghosts, and shadows, Frodo gently considered Bolco. "Do you understand, so far, why I am telling you this story?"
"I think, " Bolco stammered, "I think because the ring was the center of your life. And you couldn't remove it, even though you wanted to."
Frodo nodded, and Bolco shifted in his seat, resettling but not relaxing, aching for Frodo but uncertain whether there was anything he could do. Frodo suddenly pulled out his pipe, wondering that he had not done so already, and filled and lit it.
While Frodo smoked, Bolco thought about his own center, and wondered. Was his interior claim on Lilac something that blinded him to other people and their needs? He thought of Tom and Missus Pansy, and Daffodil, and how they had welcomed him and cared for him; and the rest of the field hands, and how they had often tried to talk to him, draw him out; and always he had seen everything through the resentful, painful haze of having lost Lilac. He wondered how many people he had neglected or been rude to. He remembered the times he had been rude to The Mayor, and realised why The Mayor had never gotten angry about it. He understood. Bolco studied Frodo again with more respect, and more love, than ever.
Eventually, after two bowls of pipe-weed, the Mayor met Bolco's eyes again, and leaned over the map.
"Sam found me roughly... here, " he pointed, "and after he got me out of the tower, we went... this way. Northwards. Smeagol tracked us. Orcs did too, but we avoided capture by sheer luck, or providence, or..." He met Bolco's eyes, and Bolco smiled, a little. Frodo nodded.
"I will spare you the details of the final trip to Mount Doom, except to tell you that if it hadn't been for Sam I'd have died many times along the way, and have given up, simply laid down and not gotten up. Sam actually carried me up the mountain when I could walk no further.
"When we were almost at the top, we were attacked; by Smeagol. He wanted the Ring. I fought him off. I don't know how, except that my fury and jealousy gave me a strength I didn't have, and that was due to the power the Ring had over me. Somehow, despite how weak I was, by the Ring's power he was reduced to helplessness, and Sam held him at bay as I went on to the Sammath Naur. Sam was tempted to kill him, but instead had mercy on him, since he now knew what Smeagol had suffered.
"I entered the chamber that housed the chasm, and stood looking into the chasm. I turned, and saw that Sam had followed me in. And then--"
Bolco, frozen with horror and amazement, watched as the Mayor looked away, silently burst into tears, half covered his face with his hands, and then slowly, slowly mastered his emotions, quieted his body, and struggled to continue speaking.
Finally he spoke in a whisper, slowly, as if from a great distance away. "I claimed the Ring. I owned it. I made it my own. I possessed it. I put it on, and-- and I enjoyed wearing it, knowing it was mine at last. I felt my ownership of it. I began to understand it. Or I thought I began to. When I claimed it, I proclaimed aloud that it was mine; and hearing myself say those words was immensely, deeply satisfying."
There was another silence, but Bolco was beside himself with anxiety and curiosity and fear, and could hardly bear it. He stared at the Mayor's hands, and the missing finger on Frodo's right hand haunted him.
"What happened?" Bolco whispered, but Frodo did not heed him.
At last Frodo spoke again.
"Something struck me, " he said, "and I realised, too late, that it was Smeagol. I was too surprised to command him, to wield the Ring over him and subdue him. I simply fought back, as I had before. But my strength was not enough this time. He found my hand, and bit the Ring off of me. And then, dancing in his triumph, Smeagol lost his balance, and fell into the chasm. He only possessed it for a few seconds before he died."
Frodo wept again, and Bolco watched in turmoil, wanting to do something, say something. But he could not reach Frodo. He asked the Creator to help him, to help the Mayor, but he felt helpless and the garden seemed dark and silent and cold. You've got to help him, Creator, Bolco pleaded, almost demanding.
And then he realised, with a shudder, that Frodo was still immersed in the struggle that Bolco was faced with. Frodo had the wrong center. He still wanted the Ring, and knew that he shouldn't, and didn't know what to do about it. The Ring was now beyond his grasp; but against his will, however he fought it, however he tried to rid himself of it, it was still deeply entwined and entangled in the desires of his heart.
Bolco sat across from the Mayor, cold fear gripping his heart, weeping silently, and thought, Oh, Creator, have mercy on both of us, have mercy on us.
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