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 Five
A Garden locked...
"Very well done, Tulip... one last time! The head is already outside!"
The young woman on the bed closed her eyes, and a deep strained grunt escaped her lips as she arched her back and dug her heels into the mattress. In the very next moment a small, wet figure slipped directly into Lily's waiting hands, and the sobbing sigh of relief of the young mother was accompanied by a high pitched baby's scream.
"It's a boy!" Lily cut the umbilical cord with a fast movement and gathered the newborn child into a warmed cloth, gently rubbing the damp delicate head. "A healthy boy, and oh so pretty!" She caressed the plump red cheek with a tender fingertip, filled with a glorious feeling of triumph. She would never get used to it, even though this was already the seventh birth she successfully mastered without Amaranth's help.
"Here my dear... all ten fingers and toes, and he's the spitting image of his father." Lily laid the baby into the waiting arms of his mother, watching the unbelieving joy and awe in Tulips exhausted face. Tulip and Bungo Oakbranch had been waiting three long years before Tulip finally got pregnant; a fact that Bungo immediately celebrated with a big feast as soon as he could be sure that there really would be a baby.
Lily went out and found the young father pacing up and down the hallway in an alarming state of nervousness and despair, his hair even more tousled as usual, his face pale and streamed with sweat. She patted his back and gave him a wide smile.
"Poor lad, you look as if you were the one who has just given birth!" she gently teased. "Go inside... there's someone waiting to get to know his Papa."
A firework of joy exploded in Bungo's eyes and he hurried into the bedroom. Lily stretched her back and walked over into Tulip's kitchen to wash her hands and to bring the good news to nearly a dozen aunts, uncles, gammers and gaffers who had spent the last few hours waiting (and keeping poor Bungo upright and sober).
One hour later she walked down the path from the small Oakbranch smial and took the bend to Bywater; she had promised Amaranth to tell her if mother and baby were well. Amaranth had tried for years to help the young couple to fulfill their biggest wish. She had created completely new herb brews, ordering them first abstinence, then as much lovemaking as possible (according to Tulip's month calendar), and then abstinence again and more herb brews. The old midwife couldn't have been prouder if the baby Tulip finally conceived had been her own child.
Amaranth sat in her wing chair near the window when Lily came in, bringing a rush of cold October air with her; a big volume lay on her knees. Lily recognized it; it was a comprehensive collection of herbs, their effect on women's illnesses and their proper doses. Amaranth had been writing into this volume for years, drawing very exact, colored images of the herbs in question, and Lily knew that she would inherit this treasure of experience some day.
"Oh... child! How are you?"
"I'm fine, Mother Amaranth." Lily replied. ?And what's even more important - Tulip Oakbranch is fine, too, and she has a little boy!"
The old midwife smiled; strangely enough it seemed to Lily that she was a little bit distracted, at not half as excited as she perhaps should have been. She looked pale and tired, even in the rich, golden late afternoon light, and Lily felt a pang of concern.
"Are you well? Did you take your medicine today?"
The foxglove tonic stood on a little table beside the chair. Amaranth gestured vaguely in the direction of the small brown flask.
"Three times a day, as Dolgo ordered." she said, a humorous glitter in her dark eyes. ?But that stuff tastes awful."
"I'll brew you some tea to make you forget the taste, and I have some fresh carrot cake in my basket. The Oakbranches have plied me with so much eggs, cake, scones and ham that I could easily feed my family for at least one week."
"Even Marco?"
Lily laughed. "Even Marco."
Hungry hobbit children were the rule, not the exception, but even among his friends who all had a blessed appetite Marco was an extremely hungry hobbit lad. He grew like weed, wolfing down everything that didn't eat him first and Violet complained that she was barely able to keep up sewing new - and longer - breeches.
Lily went over into the kitchen and filled the kettle under the pump. Then she took the glass with peppermint tea from the high shelf, removed the lid and inhaled the strong, aromatic scent of the pulverized leaves. While she prepared the teapot, raked the fire and waited for the water to boil, her thoughts wandered back to the evening two days ago, when she sat in Mr. Baggins' study.
Lessons had started in the middle of July, and within three months she'd learned all the elvish letters and had now begun to write the first words. She knew she could have been faster, but housework in the Proudfoot smial and her increasing duties as the "new" midwife hat kept her from studying as often as she desired. To her on surprise and the amazement of her teacher the letters were no real problem; her fingers painted even the complicated, elegant forms of esse and arda without any difficulties. The only thing that simply drove her mad was the enormous variety of use of the thetar; this as a battle she was still grimly struggling to win.
During the last lesson (she was just trying to manage the word daffodil without creating an unspeakable thetar-mess) she suddenly found herself humming a melody; the study was very silent, and when she raised her head and reached out to dip her quill into the ink pot, she noticed that Mr. Baggins was looking at her from the other side of the desk, his gaze filled with a smiling curiosity.
"Nice tune." he said. "It sounds familiar, somehow."
It was the melody of the flute from that unforgettable Midsummer Evening; Lily felt her cheeks grow hot. But she didn't cast her eyes down.
"Mr. Brandybuck played it when you... when we danced." she answered quietly. "It was very beautiful... but it's no hobbit dance, isn't it?"
"No... it's dwarvish." He leaned forward, controlling her last few letters. "Attention, Lily! Three points for an a, not only one. And the hooked bow for the o must open on the bottom and to the left side... or you'll have a diffudil." He touched her shoulder for a short moment and she felt the warmth of his palm through the cloth of bodice and blouse. Then the hand was gone, and he sat down again on his chair.
"The dwarves were regular visitors here when Bilbo was still the master and I was not much more than a fledgling with an insatiable hunger for both, food and books. And when he left after his birthday, fifteen years ago, they accompanied him."
He sighed.
"Merry was here at that time; he helped preparing many parcels with all the presents Bilbo wanted to give away... and after the party he threw out everybody who mistook Bag End for a treasure cave... and there were quite a few." The blue eyes didn't see her anymore; their gaze was fixed on something in a far distance. "On the last evening before the party the dwarves danced around a fire Sam Gamgee made in the back garden; one of them played the tune, and he taught it to Merry and gave him the flute before he left."
Lily smiled.
"Mr. Baggins had also something for me." she said. "A pair of scissors and a wonderful mirror. On the card in the parcel he wrote: For Lily with the sweet face and the skillful hands."
"People may say that Bilbo was rather eccentric," Mr. Baggins remarked, "but he was surely not blind."
Lily felt a wave of heat flushing through her entire body, and this time she was more than thankful that she could fix her gaze on the parchment, carefully drawing the long, elegantly swung bow of the lambe at the end of the word.
She came back to herself with a start; steam rose from the kettle and the room was completely silent except of the soft bubbling of the boiling water. Lily raised her head and discovered that the old wall clock one of Amaranth's countless nieces had decorated with colorfully painted flowers had stopped its soft ticking.
"Amaranth?"
No answer. Lily filled the tea pot and went over to the other room.
The old midwife still sat in her wing chair, head slightly tilted to one side, eyes closed, her hands on the open volume in her lap. Lily leaned over her and pulled the book away. She closed it and laid it on the small table beside the flask with Dolgo's medicine.
Only when she took a thick woolen plaid from the bench under the window to cover her up she finally discovered that her old friend wasn't breathing anymore.
*****
Amaranth Brockhouse was buried two days later in the Hobbiton graveyard; nearly everyone who was able to walk scrambled between the white picket fences while the simple fir coffin was lowered into the earth.
During the next few weeks Lily had to struggle to get a completely new daily routine under control; she helped herself by copying Amaranth's calendar where she had carefully noted the visits she had to make, the brews and teas that had to be prepared and the baths and ointments Amaranth had been creating herself, selling them to the women of Hobbiton and Bywater.
Elvish lessons had to be cancelled for the time being; evening after evening she sat in the light of half a dozen candles, studying Amaranth's book; her biggest fear was that she might poison someone because of sheer lack of experience. She thanked fate that she had been clever enough to prepare her Yule gifts already in August and September (especially one of them that took a very long time to be finished).
She spoke to no one about her sorrow for Amaranth; her mother had never masked her heartfelt aversion against the old midwife and didn't ask, and her father understood after a few attempts that she wasn't willing to discuss the matter or her feelings about it. Slowly people got used to seeing a young pretty face on their doorstep instead of an elder, wrinkled one when a baby was going to be born, and the year grew old.
******
December came with icy rain, making folks shudder under their damp cloaks and trudge through the cold puddles. The healers were busy distributing cough syrups and recommending hot steam baths with chamomile and eucalyptus, and instead of keeping the rules of courtesy people turned away from each other to keep themselves from sneezing right into the red-nosed faces of their neighbors. Then, over night, the world turned white and silent; the chill air was full of whirling flakes and on the morning of Yule Hobbiton had turned into a winter fairy tale.
Frodo had been invited to a few Yule parties this year and he would travel to Buckland as soon as the new year began; knowing how turbulent and noisy the feasts of his Brandybuck relatives usually were, he was looking forward to a silent evening in his study. Perhaps Sam Gamgee would come in the late afternoon and they might share some mulled wine and Marigold's delicious spice cakes which his gardener would undoubtedly contribute to their little meeting.
He had just sat down in the company of hot tea, two boiled eggs, a basket full of toast and a small collection of elvish poetry, when he heard the soft knocking at the door.
"Come in... it's open!"
He half rose from the chair beside the kitchen table; the door opened and closed again and then a thickly muffled figure appeared from the entrance hall.
"Good morning and a Merry Yule, whoever you are." Frodo said with a smile. A giggle came from behind the cloth hiding the face; the figure got rid of scarf, hood and plenty of winter clothing, and the person emerging from under the thick layers of wool was Lily, her cheeks reddened from the chill outside.
"Good morning, and also a Merry Yule to you, Master Baggins." She produced a package from a pocket in her skirt. "I don't have much time... I left a basket with Yule orders outside. I have promised my mother to deliver them before elevensies. And my father has a bad cold."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he will be better soon." He looked curiously down on the package. "This is a gift for me? Honestly, I didn't except any gift from you."
"You've been teaching me elvish letters and elvish language for nearly half a year now, and you've always been patient and friendly. If you don't expect a Yule gift from me, you should at least except a 'Thank you'." And, after a short moment of silence: "I know you would normally wait until this evening, but... would you have a look and tell me if you like it?"
"Of course." He carefully removed the stiff, brown paper that covered the soft content, and then he saw her gift in the light of the lamp on the table. For a short moment he held his breath and stared without speaking.
It was a waistcoat, neatly folded and made of rich, deep green velvet. The front was strewn with tiny golden flowers and leaves, each single one beautiful, delicate and perfectly embroidered; he couldn't even imagine how long it must have taken her to finish it.
He raised his gaze at her in wonder.
"This is for me?" He shook his head. "But Lily--- that's too much, really."
She smiled at him. ?I'd say it's not enough." she replied simply. "And besides... I promised to make this for you someday."
"You promised...when?"
"Twenty-two years ago." The smile widened and filled her eyes. "When I got lost on the Midsummer Fair and you watched over me while Bilbo Baggins searched for my father." She noticed the puzzled expression on his face and added: "I told you I didn't believe anymore that you were a brazen legacy-hunter even though this were exactly Mistress Lobelia's words when you first arrived in Hobbiton."
Frodo laughed.
"You definitely have a better memory than I have," he confessed. "and concerning Lobelia I'm really glad that I forgot what she called me. Did you really promise to make me a waistcoat?"
"To be honest, this is already the second one I've made for you." she said.
"That day at the Fair you wore the very first waistcoat I ever embroidered. It was a maroon one, the front made of silk, with golden and green leaves."
He still didn't remember the scene very clearly... but he remembered the waistcoat. His first years in Hobbiton had been a sometimes laborious struggle of conformation and familiarization, and the Yuletides were milestones in this process. Bilbo never forgot to find special presents, chosen thoughtfully and with love. The first Yule it had been a fine quill with swan feathers, the second one an expensive coat, lined with lambskin. The following year Bilbo had given him a dwarvish pipe, beautifully carved, the pipe head decorated with bands of silver, followed by a wooden box, filled with hand-made, heavy paper, matching envelopes and sealing wax. And in the fifth year his gift had been that waistcoat... shimmering dark brown, the leaves a fine, elegant pattern running down the front.
"I don't know if I ever thanked you for the first one you made." he said, bowing slightly. "but I always wore it with gratitude and pride... and now I realize that I have reason enough to thank you twice. "
Lily reached for the scarf and coat she'd cast over the back of the kitchen chair. "I must leave now." She hesitated, her gaze still hanging on the green velvet in his hands. "I'm glad that you like it." She turned towards the door. And suddenly he knew what it was he could give her in return.
"Wait! --- I have something for you, too. If you can spare another minute, I'll fetch it at once."
He left her standing in the kitchen and hurried into the study, taking something from the desk. Gazing down at his improvised gift, he knew that it would be difficult to find a substitute... but nevertheless this felt absolutely right. It was a highly deserved reward for her studiousness and her hunger for wisdom and knowledge that never ceased to surprise him.
When he returned into the kitchen, the gift was hidden behind his back.
"Close your eyes," he demanded, suddenly feeling nervous like a tween.
She obeyed, a small smile playing around her lips.
"Stretch your hands out. Very good - and now you may have a look."
She opened her eyes again - and they went wide with awe. It was the Sindarin dictionary.
"Oh... oh. But you can't... this is too..."
She looked at him, opening her mouth and closing it again. Then she did something he'd never have expected. She made a fast step towards him and flung her arms around his neck, holding him in a sudden embrace. Without thinking he returned it, one hand flat on her back, the other one instinctively buried in her dark hair. The curls tickling his chin were slightly damp, smelling of snow; he felt the young slender body against his and gasped in stunned surprise.
Then Lily stepped back.
"Thank you." she whispered. "Thank you so much."
He only nodded and watched her as she quickly wrapped herself in jacket, cloak and scarf. She looked back at him with a fast, shining smile and was outside the door before he had been able to regain his composure and to say something coherent.
He went over to the window and watched her through the thick, uneven glass... a blurred figure, following her own footprints back along the snowy, invisible path to the garden door.
Lily.
He had received many gifts on many a Yuletide... but this was definitely the sweetest one of all. He could still feel her warmth and smell her scent, green and fresh like a spring morning in the middle of winter.
Lily.
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