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 Nine
Winter Solstice
Frodo Baggins had only a few dreams that returned regularly, and there was one he had come to fear during the years. It returned rather seldom, but when it came, it haunted him and made him feel miserable for days.
In this dream he was a small lad again, running down from the many windows of Brandy Hall, their glassy eyes looking over the river and mirroring the pale beams of an early morning sun. He ran though damp grass, following the loud excited voices of a large hobbit crowd he could see from the distance, obstructing the view of the weeping willows and swaying reed of the riverbank.
When he came closer, he could see that the crowd was gathering around something on the ground, but people stood too close to each other to allow him a proper view. At last he tugged at the sleeve of a middle-aged, red-blonde hobbit he knew from the pony stables. The fellow turned around, gazed down at him - and paled.
"Frodo...! What are you doing here, lad?" he asked with a strangely hushed and shaken voice. "You shouldn't be here..."
"Why?" Frodo heard himself ask. "What has happened there? What are you all staring at?" And he pushed his way through the legs before him, using his elbows and stepping on furry feet, filled with a sudden, cold panic at the memory of the shock and pity in that hobbit's eyes when he recognized him. The voices above his head grew louder and shrill, and hands tried to grab him and hold him back, but he struggled free, stumbled forward... and suddenly stood in an empty circle, surrounded by soft, nervous murmurs that slowly ebbed away into a dull stillness.
A heavy blanket had been thrown over something unshaped on the ground. Behind that blanket, he could see a broad trace, leading back to the river... whatever lay there had obviously been dragged over the wet soil to end here, covered and hidden from his sight.
But not completely. He saw what stuck out from under the blanket, and the next sound that broke the deadly silence was the penetrating shriek of his own voice, high-pitched and inconsolable.
He rocketed up in his bed, desperately gasping for air. His heartbeat was a loud thunder in his ear, making him deaf for any other sound in the silent, chill room; the fire was nearly out. He pulled his legs close to his chest, chin on his knees, eyes closed. He could feel cold sweat, not only on his brow but on his entire body, and he shivered.
"Frodo?"
He opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to speak. Slowly he turned his head; he could see nothing, but he felt her presence in the darkness and then her warm hand, sliding up his back and resting on his shoulder. He shook his head.
"It was only a dream, dear. Only... a dream."
The bed frame creaked when she moved, and then the light of a single candle gilded her face, kindling small, red fires in her long, tousled curls.
"You should tell me", she said quietly. "My father has a saying that bad dreams must be told in daylight or at least in front of a fireplace to banish the fear."
"He is a wise hobbit." Frodo remarked; he noticed that the small flame of the candle made him already feel at least a little bit better. Lily slipped out of the bed and walked over to the fireplace. She removed the ashes, put small logs of apple-wood on the clean grate and took the tinderbox from the mantlepiece to lit a warm, crackling fire. She turned around and he saw the silhouette of her naked body against the red and yellow flames. She slipped behind him under the covers, opened her arms and pulled him close. He let himself sink against her, his head pillowed on her shoulder, her breasts soft and comforting against his back.
"What was your dream about?" she asked.
"My parents." he replied, closing his eyes; this made it somehow much easier to speak about the old pain. "I was twelve years old when they decided one night to row on the Brandywine River. No one knows exactly what happened, but the boat capsized and threw them into the water. It was early spring... the current was cold and strong, and it carried them away. And had there not been a tumbled tree that kept them from floating much further, they would have probably never been found."
Frodo paused, instinctively waiting for a remark, but Lily said nothing. She shifted slightly and he felt her cheek against his, and her breath, warm and sweet on his skin.
"I woke up that morning, and I found myself alone in our rooms in Brandy Hall. I couldn't find my parents, so I dressed up and went out to seek them. The corridors were empty, the many rooms and halls were silent... no cooks, no servants, it was as if they had all dissolved into thin air. No wonder that I found no one - they were all outside, down on the riverbank."
Now he opened his eyes, shielding himself from the haunting images in his mind and seeking comfort in the sight of Lily's quiet, attentive face and the touch of her hands... reliable warmth amidst the icy coldness of his memories. She kissed him.
"What happened then?"
"They had pulled my parents out of the water, and a big crowd stood around their bodies beside the river. I ran down the hill and they tried to keep me from seeing them, but I pushed my way forward until I had reached the blanket that covered them on the ground. I... I saw something sticking out from under the black cloth."
He took a deep breath.
"My mother owned two precious pieces of jewelry. A necklace, made of gold and amber and a matching ring... a blossom, formed by translucent amber drops. I would have recognized it everywhere. And she still wore it when all I could see from her was her hand."
A deep sigh shuddered though his body, dangerously close to a sob, and her arms closed more firmly around him.
"I remember that I screamed, and someone lifted me up in a belated attempt to prevent the inevitable and carried me back to the hall. I stayed in my room for nearly two days, staring against the wall, refusing to speak or to eat. Then Bilbo arrived; Aunt Esmie had sent him a messenger and he came immediately. When he entered my room and I saw that it was him, I slipped from my chair and stumbled into his open arms, and we both burst into tears. It was the first time ever that I saw him weep."
He fell silent, relaxing in her embrace, now that the worst was told. He heard the soft, comforting crackle of the fire, thankful and surprisingly relieved... as if someone had pulled a thorn out of an old, inflamed wound. Now it will finally heal. he thought sleepily, and he nearly missed her next question.
"Why didn't he bring you here at once?"
Frodo shrugged.
"I guess I was too small then, and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to handle such a young boy. I stayed in Buckland nine more years before he decided to adopt me as his heir. And it wasn't because I felt uncomfortable there that I followed him."
He hesitated; he had never spoken about this with anyone before - not even with Merry (who felt rather forsaken and betrayed when his big, adored cousin went away, and who needed nearly five years to become reconciled to the fact that he wouldn't come back).
"... I wanted to find a place I could really call my home, a place to belong. And though all my aunts and uncles, my cousins, all the folks in Brandy Hall were good to me, though I knew that they really cared... with Bilbo it was something different."
He caught Lily's hand and kissed the palm.
"I know he always had this longing for adventure in his blood." he said softly. "After all the years of slowly regained respectability, after being the Master of Bag End, after keeping his books, supporting people in need, visiting feasts and translating manuscripts in the silence of his study, a part of him still wanted to seek new roads, new travel companions, new quests. It was me who kept him rooted here. He stayed in the Shire because he loved me."
He turned his head and their lips met; Frodo could taste the Old Vinyard on Lily's mouth, a hint of the rosemary potatoes from the evening before and her very own flavor, spicy and sweet at the same time. And suddenly he remembered with a deep contentment that she wouldn't have to leave this night... no silent rustling of clothes in the hour before dawn, no hasty kiss on his brow before he heard the door closing behind her, no bed, being surprisingly empty after she had left. Her parents would return tomorrow evening... they had still time to be together, to finish this peaceful night, to start the new day. Sam wouldn't come this morning; he wanted to trim the old apple tree in the garden of Bagshot Row No 3 before the first snow (if there was any this year), and cover the Gaffer's strawberry beds.
Slowly he became aware of the fact that Lily was singing... with a very soft, low voice.
"The joy of winter is the sky,
so blue and bright it greets the eye.
The sunrise burnished bright with gold,
is warmest when the air is cold..."
His fingers slid over her hands, holding them in place on his chest.
"And sunset too is warm and red.
And when the sun has gone to bed,
The moon shines with a kindly light
And guides us safely through the night."*
He felt sheltered in her arms, sheltered and whole, and the simple melody lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
*****
Sam placed the last few fir twigs on the last strawberry bed and stretched his back. That had been faster than he expected; the tree stretched its trimmed branches into the pale blue sky, the sawed wood was neatly stacked in the small shed and the blanket of fir needles would keep the frost from doing any harm to the beloved beds of his Gaffer.
Said Gaffer was in a rather foul mood; the damp cold weather of the last weeks had been trickling into his old, affected joints. They were swollen, red and sensitive, and a lot of his dark muttering and acid remarks could be attributed to his miserable state... but after one long evening and a silent, uncomfortable breakfast with Hamfast Gamgee Sam was glad to be in the garden and out of range.
There was one hour left until elevenses, and he spontaneously decided to walk up the Hill; he could soothe his nerves by sorting out the garden tools in the shed (he'd been only halfway through when he had to leave the evening before), and he could ask for a jar of Mr. Frodo's beer for his father; the ale in the Ivy Bush had lately added a unpleasant heartburn to the Gaffer's maladies, causing snapped maledictions like "A lazy keeper makes a lousy brew". Mr. Frodo's beer came from the Cotton farm, and it was nutty-flavored, mild and delicious. Perhaps one or two pints of it would do a lot to cheer the old hobbit up.
Sam opened the door, called: "I'm up on the Hill, Gaffer!" and was rewarded with a grumbled reply. He left the garden and took the way around the corner of Bagshot Row.
Ten minutes later he had reached Bag End. The curtains were still closed, and he shook his head, a small smile curling his lips; "Too much ink in too many books makes too many short nights..." he murmured to himself and the smile grew wider when he noticed that he didn't sound any different than the Gaffer himself. He opened the shed in the back garden with the small key he always kept in his pocket, took the lump of cloth he had left on the small wooden worktop yesterday and started to rub the soil from the blade of the biggest shovel. He would probably need not more than half an hour for the work in the shed, and then he would take the saw from its holder and tackle the pear tree.
Sam started to whistle under his breath and reveled in the silent vision of a cup of tea in the warm kitchen of Bag End... Mr. Frodo was not the greatest cook among hobbits, but his almond scones were superb. Perhaps for elevenses... almond scones with butter, melting on the warm crust, and a spoonful of cherry marmalade... and one of the old tales Mr. Frodo knew from Mr. Bilbo...
He rubbed the shovel blade a little more energetically and smiled.
******
"I must go soon."
Lily rose from her chair; Frodo watched her pile the plates and mugs, carrying them over to the deep stone sink. Her movements were quick and practiced. He could see that she was used to running a household, and suddenly the thought occurred to him that this was the first woman since Belladonna Baggins who shared a breakfast with the Master of Bag End. The last couple in this kitchen had been Bilbo's parents.
But he and Lily were no couple. Not really.
She had already filled the kettle under the pump and hung it over the fire. Now the water was steaming; she spilled a handful of soft soap over plates, cutlery and mugs and poured the content of the kettle into the sink. Frodo stepped behind her and laid both hands on her shoulder.
"Let me do this." he said gently. "You are not my kitchen maiden."
She turned around, her amber eyes suddenly serious.
"Of course not." she replied. "But I have shared your meal, and I would think that even your cousins do the dish-washing when they are here, don't they?"
"They do." He grinned. "Under protest."
She was not so easily distracted.
"And I do this every day. Why does it bother you when I offer to do it here?"
"It doesn't bother me." Frodo said in a light tone. "But you already do enough, even without the washing-up." He cupped her face in his hands. "It was good to have you here last night, Lily. This meant very much to me." He kissed her brow, her nose and her mouth. "Thank you, my chestnut."
"My pleasure, sir." She curtseyed and stepped back. He followed when she went over into the entrance hall, took her long, dark blue cloak from the hook and wrapped it around herself. He handed her the basket she had brought with her last evening.
She opened the door.
"Your night gown is still neatly folded." he said. "You didn't need it at all." He drew her close and kissed her again.
"No, I didn't." Her body felt lithe and soft in his arms. "You kept me warm." She gave in and he deepened the kiss for another sweet moment. Just one more minute... This was the back garden and they were alone and out of sight.
"Frodo." Lily raised her hands and gently pushed him back. "I must go. Now." She turned around... and suddenly stiffened and held her breath. He gazed over her shoulder and froze.
Sam stood directly in front of them, barely two meters away. He held the big saw in his hand, his eyes were big as saucers and his mouth stood wide open in shocked disbelief.
******
Frodo spent the rest of the forenoon rather unpleasantly behind his desk; the only thing he heard was the sharp, regular sound of the saw outside. He kept the last view of Lily in mind, as she walked down the garden path to the gate; passing Sam with a straight back and a short nod of her head. Neither he nor Sam said anything before she'd closed the gate behind her and was gone. Only then Frodo felt that he had regained enough of his composure and dared to speak.
"Sam?"
"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" Sam held his gaze fixed on the ground, and the knuckles of the hand around the wooden handle of the saw were white.
"When you have finished whatever you are going to do, will you please come into my study? We should talk."
"As you wish sir." Sam still didn't raise his head. He veered and vanished in the direction of the pear tree, and a few minutes later the first branch crashed with a dull sound to the damp ground.
Meanwhile Frodo had with grim determination done the dishwashing and settled behind his desk, opening one of his account books; he thought it might be easier to concentrate on numbers than on some kind of elvish poetry. He felt nervous and uneasy; not only because of the fact that this evening and night with Lily had ended in such a disastrous way, but because of Sam's reaction.
He was quite certain that Sam wouldn't give them away. The aching knot in his stomach didn't result from the fear of discovery, but from the look in Sam's eyes before he turned his gaze away and refused to meet his eyes any longer. There had been no disdain, but a painful lack of understanding, as if from one second to the next Sam's illusions had been shattered, and his hero had tumbled from an invisible pedestal.
Frodo knew very well that he had always been a subject of admiration for Hamfast Gamgee's son. Sam was much more than his gardener, much more than a faithful, trustworthy servant. Sam was his friend, longer than he dared to remember. He had never questioned Sam's deep faithfulness and his obvious conviction that he, Frodo, couldn't do anything wrong. He had the silent suspicion that Sam spent a lot of time defending him against folks who thought him to be as queer and eccentric as Bilbo himself. But now Frodo had lost Sam's innocent confidence, and this fact was far more disturbing than he could ever have imagined before.
He skipped elevenses and had a listless meal of cold roast, cucumbers and bread around midday. Half an hour later Sam finally finished his work and came out of the garden and into his study. He stood in the middle of the room, obviously not knowing what to do with his empty hands. There was no hat to turn between his fingers, so he stuffed them into his pockets.
Finally Frodo cleared his throat.
"How long were you in the garden this morning, Sam?"
"Quite a while, sir." Sam replied. He stepped uneasily from one foot to the other and looked as if he desperately wished to be somewhere else. "Long enough to hear the remark with the... the night gown."
"And to see the kiss." Frodo said softly.
"Yes... yes, sir." Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. Then he straightened his back, meeting Frodo's gaze openly. "Mr. Frodo, sir... how... how long has this been going on? I know, I have no right to ask, and this is a gentlehobbit's business and naught of mine... but I know Lily since she was a wee lass with bruised knees, and ... I'm a bit worried."
Frodo took a deep breath.
"Believe me, Sam, I have no intention to do Lily any harm." he said.
"Oh, I'm sure." the young gardener replied, his gaze still straight and inquiring. "But it's easy to get a young lass in trouble, even if you don't want to ... if you understand what I mean. It would be fine fodder for the old gossips if they ever find out that the Master from the Hill beds the young midwife."
Frodo winced involuntarily, but he didn't avoid Sam's eyes.
"You are right... from that point of view it sounds rather unpleasant. But... " He gazed down on his folded hands. "This may not look very respectable, but believe it or not, it started with a rather harmless thing: with elvish lessons. Lily is very good. She can read and write Sindarin fluently meanwhile." A fleeting smile played around his mouth and vanished again. "She has an open, eager spirit; it was a joy to teach her."
"You don't need to tell me all that." Sam's voice had an uneasy tone.
"I just want you to understand." Frodo said quietly. "It started as teaching, but it ended with something - something else."
"I have no right to hold this whole matter against you, Mr. Frodo, I certainly don't have." Sam cast down his eyes. "I was just... worried."
Frodo sighed. "And you still are, aren't you?"
"Yes." Sam nodded slowly. "I still am." He turned around and walked towards the door. "If you excuse me now, sir... I'll stack the branches of the pear tree in the shed. Lots of fine wood for the fireplace this winter. Burns very good."
The young gardener went out with fast steps and left the Master of Bag End behind, staring out of the round window, filled with a strange sense of guilt and with a bitter taste in his mouth.
******
Three days later Sam opened the door of Bagshot Row No 3 and found a rather unexpected visitor at the doorstep. It was Lily, her chestnut hair pinned up to a shining crown on her head , her lovely face impervious and cool.
"Is the Gaffer here?"
"N... no." stuttered Sam, completely taken aback. "He's over at the Green Dragon. What..."
"May I come in?"
"Of... of course."
He closed the door and followed her into the small living room. It had been the Bell Gamgee's favorite place when she was still alive, and her old wing chair - faded dark green, strewn with daisies - still stood beside the window. Lily's hand lay on the arm-rest when he came in.
"Your mother didn't want to give me the old family recipe for her apple tarts," she said with a weak smile, "unless I made her an apron. ,One favor for another' she said."
Sam felt his face relax.
" I know that apron, I think." he said. ?Yellow, with red tulips on the hem and pocket, isn't it?"
"Yes. And one tulip bloom was pink because I ran out of red thread."
"I remember it very well, and Mam loved it... it was her last apron before she went ill." Sam's voice was gentle. But before he could say something else, he saw how Lily's face, for a short time warmed by memory, grew cold again. For a moment the room was very silent.
"Sam, I've come here to tell you something." Lily finally said. Her voice was tense. "Leave Frodo Baggins in peace."
"I have no idea what you mean, lass."
"Oh yes, you have." Lily shot back. "I'm pretty sure you've twitted him, worrying aloud what the old gossips of Hobbiton might say if they find out about us, isn't it?"
"And if I have?" Sam decided to make good use of the situation. "What on earth is wrong with that, Lily? You don't belong to his side of the fence; his interest in you may be flattering enough, but is simply not proper, even if it only started with him teaching you the language of the elves and all."
"Right or wrong, it is not your business." Lily snapped. ?You have nothing to do with it."
"You are right." Sam nodded. "But you have, lass. And I have seen you grow up, and I know your Mam, your Dad and your brothers nearly as good as I know my own kin. This is not proper, and it's dangerous, and nothing good will come out of it, mark my words."
"Leave him in peace." Lily repeated, her eyes blazing, her mouth a narrow line. "And leave me in peace. Don't barge into my life. Don't you dare."
She turned around and was halfway out of the door when he spoke again.
"And what if you are with child one day?"
Lily stood stockstill.
"You may be the midwife, and I'm sure you have a handful of tricks to avoid a swollen belly, but what if something goes amiss?"
"As I said," she repeated with strained control, her hands clenched to fists on both sides. "this is not your business. And I would never blame him, or ask for anything he doesn't want to give."
She turned to him once more.
"He is my way of escaping from a world where everyone feels justified to tell me what I should do or not." she said, her voice very clear. "Behind the green door I can be someone entirely else. I can read elvish letters and speak elvish language, I can listen to stories, I can sing dwarvish songs, I can laugh and cry and feel... and he cares. He is incredibly good to me, and he sees me as I really am." She took a deep breath. "It is not so important if he loves me. Do you know what? He makes me love myself."
Her gaze held his, a fire burning in the golden depths of her eyes.
"Will you give us away?"
He shook his head.
"No, I won't. I never will."
Lily's smile was radiant and beautiful. Sam stared at her as if he'd never seen her before.
"I knew you would say that." Suddenly she stepped close, he smelled a faint hint of herbs and roses and felt the touch of her lips on his cheek. "I knew it. Thank you, Samwise Gamgee."
She silently closed the door behind her and was gone before he could figure out what to answer.
*****
The year grew old once more, and again the snow came late; the soil stayed brown and naked, the trees stretched long black fingers into the sky. The nights were breathtakingly cold, the earth froze, and the ice in the puddles, cracking under walking feet, had the sound of broken glass.
Yule Day came, the sun chased away the dark clouds and shone from a pale blue firmament. The narrow roads between the frost-covered hills stayed empty except for a handful of hobbits delivering the last presents before returning to a warm fireplace. When dusk came and the light turned rosy and golden, Lily left the Proudfoot Smial for a last round. She carried a basket with embroidered handkerchiefs to give to the mothers she'd cared for this year, and three tiny bonnets for children that would be born at the beginning of January. On the bottom of the basket lay, packed in several layers of paper, a new shirt for Frodo. The fabric for this shirt had already been spun in summer on the Cotton farm, and Lily had hidden Frodo's name, embroidered in tengwar letters, on the inner side of cuffs and collar.
She knew she wouldn't be able to give it to him this evening; she would leave it beside the door and look forward to the day after Yule when she would go to Bag End and see him wearing it. Right now there was no lamp in the window; Frodo's cousins Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck had come for a visit, and Lily would not have been able to come anyway. A big ham, lubricated with a delicious mixture of honey and spices was sizzling in the Proudfoot oven for hours now, and her family was waiting for her return. Just a short detour, and she would wander home again.
When she had finally distributed all her packages except the last one, she took the way up the Hill, opened the garden gate, walked on silent soles past the covered flower beds and left the package on the doorstep of the back door. She returned along the window front, All curtains were closed, but when she was halfway down the path, she heard how one of the windows was opened from inside. Laughter fluttered into the cold air and a cloud of pipe smoke filled her nostrils; she had to cover her face with both hands to stifle a sudden sneeze. She hurried down the path as soundless as possible, but then she was stopped by a voice, rising in a song:
Brother, the night comes closer,
work of the day is done
Hear me three times a-singing,
three times a-singing,
three times a-singing one.
It was Frodo's voice, a warm baritone, rich and pleasant. She stood silent, listening with a faint smile on her face.
Pipes are lit, wine is shining
red in the glass for you
Come now three times a-singing,
three times a-singing,
three times a-singing, two.
She knew that song. He had taught her the melody and the beautiful text, and she remembered both with the easiness of a well trained memory. Now a second voice joined in, and a third... two clear tenors, one of them remarkably bright and clear. They made an astonishingly harmonious choir.
Happy song, rising voices,
music for you and me
Join us three times a-singing,
three times a-singing,
three times a-singing, three.
Two days after her visit in Bagshot Row No 3 she had returned to Bag End to find him waiting for her with a troubled gaze in his eyes. She had stood in the entrance hall, for the first time in months not really sure that she was welcome. Finally she spoke.
"Nothing has changed." she said quietly. "Not for me. How about you, Frodo? Shall I go?"
The silence stretched, and still she was waiting. Then he shook his head.
"No." he said. "Stay here, Lily. Stay with me."
He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace; they held each other close, forehead to forehead. They didn't speak about gossips or about the only hobbit knowing - and certainly keeping - their secret. Instead they kissed and went over to the fireplace, holding hands and talking silently for a while, and then he lifted her on his arms and carried her to his bed.
Moonlamp shines into the window,
sleep knocks on the door,
Hush now three times-a singing,
three times a-singing,
three times a-singing, four.
Talking fades..."
The choir broke off and new laughter followed... they seemed to have forgotten part of the text. But still someone was singing, and with a sudden shock Lily recognized her own voice.
"... Talking fades into silence,
laughter and tunes are gone
One more three times a-singing,
three times a-singing,
three times a-singing, done."
She scolded herself for her lack of prudence and hastily drew back further into the darkness. The window was fully pushed open; warm golden light spread on the ground beneath the frosty wall.
*****
"Hello? Someone out there?"
Pippin leaned over the windowsill and peered into the garden. They had started singing after a fine meal, after some glasses of the last remaining stock of Bilbo's Old Vinyard and a few pipes. Drinking songs, ballads, a silly shepherd's song from the Tooklands, and finally "Three-times-a-singing". Frodo had started the tune, and Pippin took it up with his beautiful voice, accompanied by Merry with his slightly deeper tenor. After four well remembered verses Frodo stumbled over the first line of the fifth one and the song dissolved into soft giggles. Merry had made himself comfortable on the thick carpet close to the fireplace; he let the deep red wine swirl in his glass. Pippin sat beside the window, and suddenly he said:
"Someone is singing outside!"
They felt silent, listening.
"... laughter and tunes are gone,
One more Three times a-singing,
Three times a-singing,
Three times a-singing, gone."
Frodo recognized Lily's voice at once, and he held his breath, glad that Merry's gaze was fixed on the window. Her present. She must have brought her present. He knew she wouldn't want him to wait until they met again after Yule. Be careful now. Merry turned around and looked at him with a question in his eyes, but he only shrugged and gave him the most puzzled smile he could muster. Then he propped himself up from his comfortable chair and stood beside Pippin.
If there were fast footsteps on the garden path, he couldn't hear them. And the moon had hidden his face behind thick clouds, so he couldn't see anything either (and neither - hopefully - did his curious cousins). But one moment later there was the sound he had been half and half expecting... the soft Click when the latch of the gate fell into place.
"There was someone!" Pippin insisted. "Perhaps a beautiful maiden in search for a warm bed?"
Frodo laughed.
"Come back, you silly wag", he said, nipping the earlobe of his pert cousin. "Fresh air is something good and nice, but it's getting terribly cold in here."
A Merry Yule, my chestnut.
And now the snow finally came, slowly falling and covering the ground with a thin blanket of shimmering white. Frodo reached out and caught a few of the icy flakes in his palm. Then he closed window and curtain, locking out the night.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
*This song was written by rabidsamfan. Thank you so much for letting me borrow it!
**The original song ("Triodimali") was written by the german scout leader Erich Scholz ("Olka"). This is my personal English version.
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