West of the Moon
A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive
Before I go to sleep
This is a lovestory between the Ringbearer and a girl from Hobbiton. It's obviously AU and a tale about what might have been if Frodo had ever found a love of his own. What would happen when the danger of the ring is revealed and Frodo has to leave? Would she wait for his return? And how would she handle the fact to be left behind again - and this time forever?
Author: Cuthalion
Rating: NC-17
Category: AU-Angst/Drama
Chapter Three
Midsummer-Dancer
June 1416
"Left foot to the front, right foot, left foot... no, Lily, the left foot! And turn around, turn, turn--- for heaven's sake, not so fast!"
Three hobbit lasses landed in a tohuwabohu of skirts, tousled curls and breathless laughter on the lawn of the Proudfoot smial , Magnolia Goodbody on the bottom, Rosie Cotton in the middle and Lily Proudfoot on top. When they had untangled the mess, Magnolia wiped her brow, shaking her head.
"You would think you've never danced before." she said to Lily with a grin.
"Not very often," Lily replied, brushing leaves and blades of grass from her skirt and bodice. "Last Midsummer I had to finish the wedding linens for Buttercup Bracegirdle, the year before I sat behind our stall on the Midsummer Fair in Michel Delving while Mama looked for dyed goods, and in 3012... no, 3013," she was counting the years with her fingers, "both Falco and Marco were ill, and Mama didn't want me to go away in the evening."
She smiled.
"Does anyone want some black currant juice?"
She didn't wait for their answers but turned around and went inside. Rosie followed the slender figure with narrowed eyes, absent-mindedly picking at the lace on her sleeves.
"It's a shame." she suddenly said. "A real shame."
"What?" Magnolia shot her a curious glance, chewing at the stem of a daisy.
"Lily." Rosie replied, her brow furrowed. "She's such a fine lass, but she has nearly no friends, let alone admirers... when Merle tells her stories about kissing and fumbling in the haybarn, Lily sits there and looks at her as if she's speaking a foreign language."
Magnolia spit out the daisy.
"Oh, she has admirers, and she would have much more if they only had the chance to meet her somewhere sometimes." she said dryly. "This year the old dragon let her at least go to the Spring Dance in Bywater. She only danced once or twice, but I went there with Buttercup Bracegirdle's brother Nobby, and he followed her half the evening like a lovesick mooncalf... I bet he wouldn't even have noticed had I vanished beside him in a blinding flash of light like Mad Baggins did fifteen years ago."
"Oh yes." Rosie chuckled. "Yes, I remember. And she was offered so many glasses of strawberry punch that she would probably have burst like an over-stretched water hose had she accepted only half of them." She turned her head, a wry grin on her pretty, sun-tanned face. "The old dragon?"
Magnolia sighed with a mixture of exasperation and despair.
"Listen," she said, suddenly serious. "Lily takes care of her father while Violet does the embroidery for her regular customers and for the Fairs. She even takes care of her brothers when Violet gets tired of being the perfect mother for her beloved lads and lays down with one of her mysterious turns of headache. And she even does the embroidery - and she's nearly as skilled as Violet herself - when her mother decides that she has to visit her aunt in Buckland one more time and that she has to take Marco and Falco with her. At least Lily has the chance to be alone with her father then, but you know how hard it can be to help him through the day."
Rosie knew indeed; it was no secret in Hobbiton that Fredegar Proudfoot had never fully recovered from that horrible accident six years ago. It had taken months until he could stand on his legs again and more months to enable him to at least make some unsure steps, braced on two heavy crutches. Nowadays he spent most of his time in an armchair, guided every day (mostly by his daughter) to slow, laborious walks through the garden. It was also no secret that Violet had drifted farther and farther from her husband once it became clear that he would never again be the hobbit he had been before.
Of course Fredegar hadn't been able to care for the cherries anymore. Falco and Marco were too small to do the work, and Violet couldn't manage everything alone; therefore in the second year after the accident she finally decided to sell the orchard. Dolgo Bracegirdle's son Odo had helped out during the first twelve months; now he made an offer too good to decline. Fredegar who slowly understood that he would probably never climb on a cherry tree again agreed with a heavy heart. Violet's embroidery paid off very well at that time and he thought that this was the only decision he could make to give his family a little bit more security.
During the last years Lily had often visited the Cotton farm, spending all the time she could spare with Rosie, Jolly, Tom and Nick. But those stolen moments had become rare once the family's income depended on mother and daughter's skills as seamstresses and embroiderers. Violet became more and more discontent -- her artistry suffered under the need for filling requests for colors and patterns for others instead of creating her own designs. Her eyes protested long days and poor light, and her frustration grew at the unrelenting diminuation of the family's situation. Her body fled into various maladies... one of them the blinding headaches that infested her again and again. Escape to her relatives in Buckland from time to time seemed to be her only opportunity to hang on to the hobbit lass with high hopes that she had once been.
To tell the truth - she probably had no choice but to burden the lion's share of the household and a good part of her orders on Lily's shoulders. And Lily, proud of her father's praise for all she did for the family, seldom complained. The real tragedy was that Violet couldn't tell her daughter about her feelings and her gnawing despair, and didn't even think to try. And Lily in her turn didn't see that Violet was suffering... she only noticed a woman wasting none of her rare "softer" moments on her daughter, a mother, demanding more and more without giving back any encouragement, deeper understanding or real thankfulness. ---
Lily came out of the smial again; she carried a tray with three clay mugs, a high jar and a plate with small sandwiches. She saw the serious faces of Rosie and Magnolia, and a faint, slightly ironical smile curled the corners of her mouth.
"What's wrong?" she asked, pouring the deep red juice in one of the mugs. "Have you decided that teaching me to dance properly isn't worth the effort because I have two left feet, and now you don't know how to tell me?"
Rosie took the mug and drank. The currant juice was cool, sweet and a little tart at the same time. Like Lily, she suddenly thought. Same as Lily.
"Of course not, you ninny." she replied with a grin, "give me a cheese sandwich to regain my strength, and I'll show you the next three steps."
******
Midsummer had finally come. Lily stood in her room; she felt excited and - funny enough - a little guilty that she would really leave the smial this evening for the single purpose of enjoying herself.
She gazed at the lass the mirror was showing her; an oval face with big eyes, dark in the warm light of a dozen candles, a nose with a cheeky tip (the only part of her face she didn't like), a full mouth with a heart-shaped upper lip and a firm chin that betrayed the maiden-like softness of her features. This evening her hair fell in thick auburn curls, tumbling down nearly to her waist. The hem of her skirt touched her ankles; she had helped Mrs. Cotton to spin and to weave the linen and had colored it with a mixture of blackberry juice and woad. The cotton blouse had a standing collar and wide sleeves, the broad cuffs were embroidered with the same flowers as the dark blue bodice.
"What a pretty daughter I have..."
Her father stood in the door, propped on his crutches. Lily knew how much strength he needed to heave himself out of the bed and to hobble through the hallway to her room, and she was moved.
"Papa! You shouldn't have... are the new crutches better than the other ones? And are you sure I shouldn't better stay until Mama has returned from the Fair in Frogmorton?"
"Of course I should have," Fredegar replied with a smile. "And no, please don't stay until your mother is back; I'm sure Nobby Bracegirdle will bring her home within the next hour, as he promised... Magnolia Goodbody is waiting for him to take her to the Dance. And yes, these crutches are better than the old ones... much better."
The new crutches had been brought by Samwise this morning, son of Hamfast Gamgee, together with the message that he would accompany her and Rosie to the Dance. Several weeks ago Sam had watched Fredegar Proudfoot slowly moving through the garden, propped on the old crutches Violet had had made for him as soon as he left his bed for the first time after the accident. Unfortunately they were made of soft linden wood (perhaps in the hope that Fredegar wouldn't have to use them all too long) and they had worn down over the years until the braces left sour spots where they were supposed to give him stability. Sam invited himself for tea, and Lily, preparing scones, cherry cake and cream, looked out of the window and saw him talking to her father, and when she came out into the sunshine, he was just taking measurements. Now she saw the result of his work for the very first time; Sam had carved the crutches of the best and hardest piece from a lightning-struck oak tree, and he spent the evenings of nearly three weeks shaping, smoothing and polishing the wood.
"That's a fine lad, Sam." Fredegar said, following his daughter with his eyes as she walked through the room, clearing away a towel from the bath she had taken, draping her everyday-blouse on a hanger and rolling up a hair band she wouldn't need this evening. "Could it be he is a little bit... interested?" He saw her gaze and added quickly: "In you, child. Surely not in me."
"Sam?" Lily laughed, a bright, lighthearted sound that warmed his heart. "He is not in love with me, if it is that what you mean. He loves Rosie."
"Oh really?" Fredegar raised his eyebrows. "Has she any idea?"
"Of course not!" Lily started to brush her hair. "I doubt he has himself. Right now he only stares at her as long as she doesn't look."
"Lily?"
The voice came from the front door; Rosie had arrived. Lily lay down the brush and pressed one finger on her lips.
"Rosie?" she called. "Is Sam with you?"
"I'm here, Lily."
Steps came near, then Sam appeared in the entrance, face and hands visibly scrubbed, his usually tousled, sunbleached mop tamed by sheer will and water. Rosie followed on his heels, a pretty sight in a bright blue dress which matched the color of the ribbons she'd braided into her hazelnut brown hair.
"Are you ready?" Sam asked and, turning his gaze to Fredegar: "Good evening, Mr. Proudfoot. Are you happy with those new crutches, sir? Or should I change anything?"
"Nothing, lad." Fredegar replied, touched by the concern and care in the voice of the much younger - and healthier - hobbit. "You did an excellent work. And now take those two beauties out of here and enjoy yourself."
He watched them hurry out of the smial and remained where he was for a moment, before starting the long, tiring way back to his bedroom. A shame that Sam isn't in love with my daughter, he suddenly thought. He would make a wonderful son-in-law.
******
Lily never forgot that Midsummer evening, not for the rest of her life. When they came to the field where the Dance took place, she could see the Party tree, lit with lanterns and shimmering in every color of the rainbow. A big wooden dance floor had been built, surrounded by huge tables laden with food, and long benches. Two casks of beer were already beleaguered by thirsty hobbits, and the sound of a pipe, two fiddles and a drum filled the air, accompanied by pounding feet.
First she simply sat beside a table, a little shy of the crowd, but nevertheless enjoying the symphony of light, voices and music. Then Magnolia appeared out of nowhere, with shining eyes and breathless, a young hobbit in tow.
"This is Tom Brownwood," she said with a wide smile, "he asked me to ask you if you'd like to dance, and I've decided to cut the whole matter short."
He was a few years younger than her, with astonishingly red hair, a friendly face and a rather unsure smile on his lips, and Lily felt a sudden surge of compassion for him... being dragged around by a whirlwind like Magnolia could overawe even the most courageous lad.
"Of course," she replied, got up and curtsied. "It would be a pleasure."
It turned out that the patient instructions of her friends bore fruit; Lily followed the music with sure steps, flying from arm to arm, and all of a sudden everything was easy. Faces she knew from everyday life turned towards her with friendly smiles and she found herself speaking and laughing more freely than she had for years.
As the evening progressed and her stomach reminded her that it had been a while since luncheon, she sat down with Magnolia and Rosie to drink some chilled apple juice and to eat meat pastries, when there was a sudden riot on the dance floor. Two hobbits appeared among the dancers, one of them unknown to Lily, a tall young lad with a clever face and bright eyes, wearing his visibly expensive garments with careless elegance. The other one was Frodo Baggins.
"Who is the stranger?" she asked Magnolia in a low tone.
"Merry Brandybuck, a cousin of Mr. Frodo's from Buckland, " Magnolia hissed under her breath, visibly excited. "He is a marvelous dancer." She sighed deeply and Lily understood that she would have been more than eager to join him in any dance he might offer. Poor Nobby Bracegirdle, she thought with a small grin. That's a rival hard to outdo...
But Merry Brandybock didn't dance. He leaned against the raw banister of the dance floor, watching while the Master of Bag End had a small conversation with the musicians. Then the crowd drew back from Frodo Baggins and Lily saw that he held the drum in his hands. He sat it on the wooden floor and lowered himself down behind it. He started to play, and slowly the hobbits around him grew silent.
Lily could feel the music of the drum before she heard it. The beating of his palms became louder, a clear rhythm, urgent and strong. And then she heard the flute, filling the air with a strange melody... definitely not a Hobbiton tune, perhaps not even from the Shire at all, but piercingly sweet and beautiful. She saw that it was Merry Brandybuck playing. Without thinking she got up and moved closer to the dance floor, her gaze returning to Frodo Baggins. His face was quiet and nearly dreamy, his eyes were closed. His hands moved up and down, coaxing out the rhythm her feet were already following though she didn't realize it.
She hadn't seen Frodo up close for a rather long time, and her eyes instinctively searched for changes in the fine, regular features she remembered with astonishing clarity from their last, close encounter. Surprisingly enough she found very few of them (as far as she could see in this light); he might as well have been the same young hobbit close to his coming of age who had comforted her on a Midsummer's day twentytwo years ago.
One by one, more hobbits joined the musicians on the dance floor - lads and lasses, moving to the song, some of them easily, others rather awkward, but every single one attracted by the melody.
Lily scarcely noticed them; the only one she really saw was the Master of Bag End. She was spellbound by the strange music and the magic of the moment; and then the beating of his hands slowed down and stopped.
He got up and handed the drum back to the musician, and after a short moment the rhythm started again and the flute took up the tune once more. Frodo Baggins lifted his arms and, amidst the crowd, started to dance.
This was none of the dances her friends had taught her. It was a sequence of slow steps to the left and the right, broken by the stomping of both feet and followed by a turn that made his hair fly and long curls fall into his brow. When he repeated the steps for the third time, she had understood how it was done, and her feet started to move with his, shyly first, then with more courage, and the hem of her skirts swished with a soft sound around her ankles and through the sweet smelling grass.
Rosie jumped up on the dancefloor, holding Sam's hand in a firm grip and leaving him no choice but to follow her, and then Magnolia passed her by with Nobby. Lily continued watching Frodo Baggins, and suddenly he lifted his head and their eyes met. He stopped, unnoticed by the crowd, and then, to her breathless surprise, came forward to the edge of the platform, reaching out. She hesitated for what seemed to be an eternity, then she smiled, filled with a sudden, blazing triumph, and she took his hand and was drawn up on the planks.
They moved together, her steps matching his, their gazes meeting after every new turn. Lily felt as if they were completely alone. The others - Rosie, Sam, half of Hobbiton - had vanished, leaving her in an enchanted world of her own, only shared with him. His hands lightly touched her waist and her back while whirling her around... she inhaled the clean scent of his white linen shirt, feeling the warmth of his body underneath... she could see the laughter in his eyes and the same rush of music and joy that coursed through her own veins.
She never knew later how long it lasted, but all too soon it was over and she stood still, awakening to the noise of whistling, shouting and applause. Before she could say anything, he bowed before her, took her hand and kissed her fingertips. She felt the touch like a flash of lightning... rushing through her whole body down to her feet, and she held her breath, unable to speak. Then he stepped down from the dance floor and vanished in the crowd, followed by his cousin who turned around once more and blew her a kiss, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
*****
She went home soon after midnight; Rosie and Sam accompanied her to the door of the Proudfoot smial and bid her farewell, before they turned down the path again.
Lily closed the door behind her and walked slowly to her room. She undressed, carefully placing bodice, blouse and skirt on a hanger. Then she sat down in her nightgown on a low stool, took Bilbo's mirror and started to brush her hair.
After a moment she stopped; the music and the memory of the laughter in Frodo Baggins' eyes still hummed through her body, and an unknown feeling made the reflection of her face glow as of an inner fire in the dim light of the candle holder.
She blew out the candle, opened the curtain and the window and let the moonlight stream in; she could still hear the faint sound of fiddles and voices from the distance. She closed the window again and lay down on her bed, both palms pressed against her chest. Lily could feel her heartbeat in the silence, and it was the strong steady rhythm of the drum, played by the skillful hands of her Midsummer Dancer.
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