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 Twenty-Four
Reprieve
It was at the beginning of April when Samwise Gamgee made a public announcement; he told his fellow citizens in Hobbiton (and the folks in Bywater, too, of course) that the midwife Lily Proudfoot would move in to Bag End. Not for a long time though... only a few weeks, a month or maybe two. Rosie was not getting well after the birth, he said, and Lily (whose smial needed a thorough restoration anyway) had agreed to help as well as she could by taking care of the baby and for Mistress Rose, to run the household and perhaps take care for the master, too. After returning from his strange journey, Frodo Baggins had taken over Will Whitfoot's mayoral duties, but was now rarely to be seen in public. Apparently he was writing some kind of book, but people joked over their mugs of beer in the Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon, wondering if he was really even still there.
Pregnant women and young mothers were asked to come to Bag End and apply to Lily there. Sam and Rosie cleared a small parlor to create a consultation room with stuffed chairs and a cot for examination, and Sam even installed a bell in Lily's room, to prevent the rest of the household from being disturbed by urgent cases during the night.
It was a busy spring for the midwife, to say the least; during the first three weeks of April, Lily was steadily underfoot, helping dozens of children into the world, patiently giving advice and examining mothers and babies from sunrise to sundown.
"I know we should be thankful for the blessings of the Lady," she said one evening while Rosie kneaded the cramped muscles of her neck and back with strong, firm hands, "but there are days when I wished she had been a little bit less... generous." She groaned when Rosie's fingers dug into a sensitive spot between her shoulders. "I will have to ask Aster Bracegirdle for help, or I swear I'll scream right into the face of the next mother-to-be who mistakes a simple stomach ache for labor pain."
She smiled at Rosie.
"And how are you today, my oh so invalid friend?"
"Weak..." Rosie replied with a grin. "But I ironed two baskets of laundry and cleaned the kitchen and two parlors before I broke down." She saw Lily's frown. "Believe me, dear, this was the best way to keep the gossips of Hobbiton and Bywater from wagging their tongues. And without our reasonable explanation, there would have been a lot of juicy talk, I'm sure."
"Even if there is absolutely nothing to talk about," said Lily dryly, getting up from her chair. "Sometimes I have the nagging suspicion that you are waiting for me finally to sneak into Frodo's bedroom. Both of you."
Rosie felt herself blush. "Well, I certainly am not!" she protested.
Lily shot her a piercing gaze.
"Maybe not, but Sam is. I know he told me that he wanted to organize the refurbishment of my smial and that my room here in Bag End was a kind of refuge until everything is neat and tidy again, but I see the way he looks at me - and at Frodo. He's trying to turn back time... and I don't know if it's a good idea."
"Do you still love him?"
Rosie saw Lily's body grow tense. She didn't try to avoid Rosie's gaze, but the look in her eyes was hard and very cool.
"Though I don't think that I owe you an answer to that question... yes, Rosie, I still love him. But I'm a world away from the girl I once was, and he is changed, too... much more than anyone is allowed to see, Sam included."
"Oh, I think I certainly have the right to ask, Lily Proudfoot!" Rosie retorted, equal to Lily's stubbornness. "You are my friend, dear, and instead of coming to me for help, you kept your silence... I knew nothing about this love, and what is much worse, I knew nothing about your pain! Did you never think that I would have liked to help you? To be a comfort for you?"
Lily stared at her, and slowly the expression on her face softened to a remorseful smile.
"I am sorry, Rosie," she said, touching her friend's shoulder. "I've never seen it that way. I guess I... I've gotten all too used to fighting my battles alone."
"Like him." Rosie shook her head, giving Lily a grim smile. "But even he came to learn that he couldn't walk all the way to that cursed mountain without a friend by his side. And neither can you."
*****
April grew into May, and the pages of the Red Book slowly filled with Frodo's regular handwriting. Sam got up with the hens, but Lily made an additional late breakfast for Rosie and for the master of Bag End; Rosie was tired from getting up two or three times during the night to nurse Baby Elanor and Frodo was exhausted from telling his tale. Both of them sat in the kitchen, inhaling the delicious aroma of sizzling bacon, eggs and sausages, while Lily silently laid the table before them and poured hot, sweet tea into their mugs. When they were awake enough to start a conversation, Lily was already outside hanging up fresh laundry or to plucking a bowl of early currants.
Frodo spent most of the time behind his desk, recalling part after part of the quest. Since Lily was in Bag End, he kept the door ajar to be able to hear her voice as she walked by. He saw the women arrive, saw her greeting them and heard her speak to them in the calm, friendly tone that was so very much a part of her. They didn't meet very often throughout the day. After the night she had cried in his arms and stammered out her grief and shame, she had still been shy and cautious, but he could at least address her without the panic and fear reappearing in her eyes. He was waiting for her to tell him about the lost year, but this time it was Lily's turn to make the first step... he had already outwitted her once, and he wouldn't do it a second time.
He was surprised how deeply he longed for her, how he missed the intimacy he had left behind when he took the ring and fled the Shire. It was not so much the wish to have her in his bed; a constant exhaustion of body and mind kept him from feeling any strong physical desire, but he hungered to speak... about things that made him cry out in dark dreams, about memories that he wasn't even able to share with Sam. Sam, dear Sam... too close, too concerned and in spite of his own endured dolor too whole to understand how deep the cracks in his master's soul were, how bitter his wounds. Frodo kept Elrond's words in mind and clung to the white jewel around his neck, but he couldn't go, not yet, not now. He owed her time, and he couldn't leave her to an unknown future again.
On a warm evening in the middle of May he heard a soft knock at the door. It was Lily. She carried a tray with a steaming teapot and two mugs and stood in the doorway as tense and unsure as a nervous cat. He looked at her with some surprise, knowing how much it must cost her to step over this particular threshold.
"Chamomile tea.," she said in a soft voice. "With two spoons of clover honey, I think."
He felt a sudden, unexpected warmth rising in his body.
"Exactly," he replied. "But then you must have brought some apple blossom tea and a bowl of brown sugar for yourself."
"You remember it?"
It was the first heartfelt smile that he'd seen on her face since she had moved to Bag End.
"Of course I do," he said gently. " I remember your dark blue bodice with the violets and your moss green cloak. I remember your fondness for fresh bread and Lily Cotton's cheese and I remember the special way you embroidered flowers on fine silk. I remember... everything."
"So do I," she said quietly, placing the tray on his desk beside an untidy heap of papers. "And there are days when I wish I didn't."
"I know what you mean." He shook his head when she reached for the teapot and helped himself. "But if there was one thing I learned during that quest - and afterwards - it was that running away from your memories makes no sense at all; it only adds even more to the old, festering pain."
Lily gazed down at the papers on his desk.
"You don't run away either, do you?" She touched the page on top of the heap. "You write it all down."
"Yes, Lily." He gazed up at her. "But sometimes I need a confidant, someone who listens. Parchment and quill are all-too silent companions."
I need you. He didn't say it aloud, but the words hung between them in the quiet room. Her face gave nothing away, but then she visibly seemed to come to a decision.
"I have promised to finish an embroidery Rosie started shortly before Elanor was born. Would you mind if I came here and sat down beside the window? The light is still very good."
"Not at all," he replied earnestly. "It would be a real pleasure to have you here."
Lily went outside and came back a few minutes later with a small basket. She took a tambour out, a needle and some strands of golden yellow thread and came over to his desk when she saw his curious glance. The cloth was fine, thin and smooth, and he saw half a dozen tiny blooms, one of them only halfway finished.
"Oh...sunstars!" he said. "The flower that Elanor was named after. They grow in Lothlórien, where the Lady lives. There is a hill, in the middle of her blessed land... a high hill, covered with soft grass, where the breezes are gentle and sweet. And it is strewn with those flowers... yellow stars are blinking up from the meadow as if someone had turned sky and earth upside down." He closed his eyes, his mind filled with the vivid, peaceful memory, and for a moment he felt a deep, painful longing to close his books, pack his bundle and leave for Galadriel's realm and for Cerin Amroth, now, at once. He gathered himself. "I've been there with Aragorn - the King," he said softly.
"And you look as if you'd die to return, as soon as possible."
He opened his eyes and saw her sitting beside the window, the tambour on her lap and a smile on her face, a smile so full of knowledge and warmth that his heart skipped a beat.
"You are right," he sighed, opening the Red Book again and taking the quill. "But I fear I have some work to do first."
"We all have." She studied the unfinished blossom, her brow furrowed in concentration, and he bent over his writing. When he raised his head a page later, the smile still lingered on her face.
*****
From that day on the study lost its horror. Lily could often be found in the chair beside the window while Frodo sat behind his desk. He wrote and Lily did needlework or mended damaged shirts, trousers and jackets. Later in May, he took his heart in his hands and gave her the first pages of the Red Book. She put needle and thread aside and began struggling her way through the awesome, wondrous and frightening tale, asking questions and listening to his explanations. Rosie and Sam got used to the sound of their voices behind the study door. Sometimes they even heard them laugh together, and they exchanged delighted glances. Elanor started sleeping longer, not completely through the night, but Rosie began to get more rest and finally managed to get up with Sam again. Frodo still had his late breakfast, and he still sat in silence, watching Lily as she laid the table for him and served tea, eggs and bacon. Now they found enough to talk about. He enjoyed her even-tempered presence and was more than happy to see her lose most of her former unease and caution.
On a warm morning early in June, Lily leaned over his shoulder to pour him a second mug of tea, and for a short moment he was surrounded by her scent - sweet and flighty, a gentle mixture of clean linen, lavender and freshly baked bread. Her neckline was close to his cheek, and he knew that it would only take a tiny movement to see the soft curves of her breasts. He felt the blood rise to his face and involuntarily turned his head away, surprised and ashamed at the same time.
She stood very still beside him, and in the silence of the kitchen Frodo could hear her breath, hard and fast. He closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Lily..."
"Excuse me," she said curtly. "Rosie has steeped Elanor's nappies, and they have to be washed now. I am sure you're able to help yourself with the rest of the eggs." Her face was flushed and when she set the teapot carefully on the table, he could see that her hands were trembling. She hurried out with a fluttering of skirts, banging the door behind her. He stayed behind, staring down in his steaming mug, his head spinning. Memories flashed through his mind, sweet and strong like Bilbo's Old Vineyard... a shining string of images and feelings. His hands on her skin, her body, close, soft and gloriously willing... the last evening in her smial when he made love to her in a wild frenzy of passion and despair, using her like a shield against his fear... No!
This was the last thing he wanted to do. She had already been misused, and he wanted to heal and to protect her. To give in to his sudden, unexpected longing... no, that was madness.
He returned to his desk, angry with himself.
*****
June stayed warm and Hobbiton was humming with preparations for the second big Midsummer Dance since the troubles. Lily Cotton offered to take care of Elanor to give Rosie and Sam the chance to enjoy themselves, and Lily left that joyful task to the proud grandmother. She would probably stay at Bag End, sorting her supplies and writing down a few of the new brew recipes she had created during the quiet evenings in Frodo's study. He would write in silence and she would fill small leather bags with dried, pounded herbs , the strong aroma of lavender, ground ivy and yarrow for a new tea against stomachache rising from her hands.
And he watched her.
It was nothing obvious. He didn't stare or follow her constantly with his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her hands, on her face or on her back when she walked by, as palpable as the touch of warm fingers. What did he search for? For the spark under the ashes, for the remnants of lost trust?
She was afraid; a part of her shied away from any memory, good or bad, but another one - and she didn't know which part would be stronger in the end - shared the longing she could see in his eyes.
But what if I encourage him? she asked herself. What if I return the gaze, allow the touch he doesn't dare yet? What if ---
Her thoughts ran in circles. Nothing more than the passing brush of hands and those strangely curious looks had happened between them, but whenever she tried to imagine him lying with her, a cloud seemed to darken her mind and she ended up feeling the heavy weight of another hobbit pressing the air out of her lungs, and then she had to run out and to wait for her body to stop shaking.
On the evening of Midsummer, she stood in the kitchen of Bag End, scrubbing the sink as Rosie came in, holding Elanor. The young mother was a pretty sight in her pink dress, pink ribbons and marguerites braided into her honey brown curls.
"What do you think are you doing?" she asked. "You don't think we will let you stay at home, sitting around like an old spinster, do you?"
Lily sighed.
"I already told you I wouldn't be going to the Dance this year. I don't feel comfortable among so many people."
"Exactly as I thought." Rosie raised one eyebrow. "You won't hide behind your work and bury yourself behind that thick volume of yours instead of joining the fun. You will come with us."
"No, I won't." Lily shook her head and turned to her friend. "Please... there is no use in waking old memories."
"Ah - and why is that so?" The voice came from the door and both women turned their heads. It was Frodo Baggins - but not the tired storyteller with the tousled mop of hair and ink-stained fingers. There stood the master of Bag End, smelling of Rosie's lavender soap, clad in a crisp white shirt, fine fawn trousers and a dark green velvet waistcoat strewn with golden flowers - Lily's first gift for him. "There are memories and... memories."
Lily stared at him. "What do you want me to do then?" she asked, raising her chin.
He reached out.
"Come with me." His voice was gentle but insistent. "Give me a dance."
There was a long silence. Lily felt Rosie's gaze on her and heard Elanor give a tiny squeal as the baby tried to grab a marguerite out of her mother's curls. Finally, she raised her hands in defeat.
"You'll have to wait until I have changed into a proper dress and have done something with my hair," she said with a deep sigh. "And you should perhaps take our little elven princess from her mother, or Rosie will lose all those beautiful flowers before she has even left the smial."
Back to Chapter Listing
Back to Gen Story Listing