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-six
A Night in July
Rosie and Sam returned from the Cotton farm early the next afternoon. The thunderstorm was long over and the garden smelled heady and sweet from the first flush of the roses. Lily awaited them with a fine meal of roasted chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes with butter and fresh chives. She had even baked an enormous cherry cake, and after the meal Sam gave a deeply contented sigh, leaned back and let his gaze wander over the (rather depleted) table. He saw empty plates, half emptied mugs of beer, milk and apple juice, some rumpled napkins - and Mr. Frodo's hand closed over that of the lovely midwife. He looked up and saw the small smile curling his master's lips before Lily got up to carry out the plates. Without a word Frodo took the bean bowl and followed her. Soon after he could hear the splashing of water from the kitchen and the pleasant sound of soft, laughing voices. Sam turned to Rosie; he could feel the huge smile spreading on his face.
"Well, did you... did you see that?" he said, his heart jumping in his chest. "Did you see that, Rosie-lass?"
"Of course I did," his wife retorted dryly, "As if you didn't plan that from the beginning!"
Sam grinned into his brew.
"I knew I had to bring her here to finally banish the old spook," he said, a barely suppressed, shameless jubilation in his voice. "I knew it!"
"Well, whatever you know or know not," Rosie said soberly, "I'd say you've done enough." She rose to collect the rest of the plates. "Let them take the time they need, and leave your fingers out of the matter now."
*****
From then on, it was perfectly normal for Lily to spend her nights in Frodo's bedroom. She was near when he couldn't sleep, a soothing voice in the darkness and a soft body to offer comfort and a blessed diversion. And when she woke from the familiar, frightening dream of a locked study door and grasping hands, he was there to hold her. Never before they had been so close. She had a difficult time understanding it, but sometimes their minds seemed to blend in an inexplicable way while they slept skin to skin. She saw his dreams like colorful pictures, and memories he'd never shared with her... a lovely woman with light brown hair and deep blue eyes, similar to his... this had to be Primula... and a handsome hobbit in his middle age, with a infectious smile and a tousled mop of ebony curls... Drogo? She saw Mr. Meriadoc as a mere toddler running after a small kitten and a winding stream, overlooked by a giant smial with many windows, shining in the red of evening sunlight.
She never mentioned anything of what she saw in her dreams, but noticed that he suddenly began to speak about adventures from his childhood, his parents, his grandfather Rorimac and his legendary Grandmother Menegilda. It was as if he instinctively knew of their mysterious exchange of thoughts, and Lily on her part found herself telling him more about her years before they fell in love than she ever had before.
But - as if by silent agreement - neither mentioned the proposal. The week went by and another week followed, and still the letter for Lord Elrond waited to be sent. Frodo didn't ask again, and she didn't answer.
June ended and July began with some cloudy days and cool nights, and Sam went to the market in Waymoot, a long wish list in his pocket. Rosie stayed at home and Lily helped her with the picking and salting of the fresh green beans while Frodo sat in the back garden, engrossed in a book, rocking the baby's cradle with his free hand. Sam returned shortly before sundown, and the Gamgees, the midwife and the master of Bag End spent a peaceful evening, sharing one of Rosie's delicious dinners and singing songs by candlelight before they went to bed. Lily laid down first while Frodo stayed in the study to finish his report of the liberation of the Shire and the defeat of Saruman. He joined her long past midnight and stirred restlessly before his eyes closed in sleep.
*****
That night Lily entered the strange world of their connected dreams again, and she knew instantly that she wouldn't see one of Frodo's more pleasant moments from his idyllic past; this would be one of his darkest memories. She was immediately tossed into a maelstrom of fear and blind rage with no chance to protect herself or to get away.
... crawling on a winding path up a mountain, and the air smells of ashes and sulfur and knees and hands are sore and full of burning bruises my tongue a swollen lump of flesh in my mouth... and the mountaintop is an impossible eternity away and I won't reach it in time I will die here in the dirt my body parched and my mind clouded by madness Sam where is Sam he must be somewhere behind and I can't let him carry me as he did before but I feel someone else approaching and no it is not Sam and it is not the eye for the eye is in my heart and sees me from within and there is no escape and now he is behind me close so close the thief the little hissing thief the murderer that miserable creature worth no pity and this time I will end all his attempts to steal It from me this time I will not hesitate...
... and Lily woke up with a wordless scream and felt a heavy weight upon her, pinning her to the mattress. The curtains were open and, in the light of a full moon, she saw Frodo's face above her and it was deathly white. He gazed down at her, but he didn't see her... His eyes were empty and hollow, a deep abyss that had swallowed all tenderness and familiarity. His teeth were bared, she could see them gleam like polished silver, and his hands lay around her neck like a vise.
She tried to speak, but it was useless. She felt the increasing pressure of his long fingers and heard him whisper, a soft, horrible stream of words. Amidst her disbelieving panic, she caught ring and thief and fear was like an avalanche of ice crashing down on her. He didn't recognize her. He thought she was Gollum and he was trying to be rid of his dead foe at last. The world grew darker and sparks danced and faded before her eyes. She tried to lash about, to push him back, but her lungs screamed for air and she felt her consciousness slipping away. Her body grew limp, but with the last remnant of her strength, she managed to send a clear thought like a spear, piercing his mind and shattering the deadly nightmare.
Love it's me for the sake of the stars it's me please don't please love...
Suddenly, the pressure was gone and the crushing weight was lifted from her body. From very far away she heard Sam's voice, rising in a shout. She gasped for air; eyes closed, and doubled over in a fit of painful, rasping coughs. Then there was the familiar comforting scent of Rosie's nightgown, lavender and chamomile, and she felt her friend holding her and rubbing her back with gentle movements.
But above all those vague impressions she heard a voice full of bitter, incredulous agony:
"Oh no... what have I done? What have I done to her?"
The world went black, and this time Lily gave in to the darkness.
*****
The next morning dawned with a high, translucent sky, promising a beautiful day, but even the sun wasn't able to banish the dark clouds hanging over Bag End.
Shortly after sunrise, Sam sat in the empty kitchen feeling battered and miserable and when he lifted his mug to take a sip of the peppermint tea he had brewed himself, he discovered to his great dismay that his hands were shaking.
After the... incident he had helped his wife carry Lily to her room. Elanor had woken up (little wonder after all that shouting and banging of doors) and he spent more than an hour rocking her in his arms, walking from room to room, singing softly under his breath and trying desperately to calm both his own racing heartbeat and the screaming baby. When Elanor lay safe and silent in her cradle, he stumbled over to Lily's room, only to discover Rosie on the low stool beside the bed, her face buried in both hands. She was sobbing violently. He knelt beside the stool and embraced her, but it was nearly impossible to calm her down. Finally he brought her to their bedroom, and he sat by her side, holding her hand until the tears ebbed away and she fell asleep.
The rest of the night was spent walking down the long hallway, peering into the rooms and having a watchful eye on his wards. Around three o'clock in the morning he brought Elanor to Rosie, waited until his daughter had drunk her fill and carried her back to her cradle. Lily's unconsciousness had changed to a deep, exhausted sleep, and Mr. Frodo... well, Mr. Frodo had vanished into thin air.
Mr. Frodo.
The memory hit him like a blow. Sam closed his eyes in a useless effort to avoid the images flooding his mind and started to weep.
*****
He had dreamt of Gollum and had woken up abruptly, filled with the familiar feeling of helpless rage and conscience-stricken pity. Without understanding why, he had suddenly known that something was wrong, utterly, terribly wrong... and he jumped out of bed, hurried out of the bedchamber and down the hallway to come to a stumbling halt in front of Mr. Frodo's room. There was no sound from inside, but the feeling of danger intensified until he abandoned all thoughts of prudence and consideration and opened the door.
The room was awash in blue and silver from the light of an enormous full moon. Mr. Frodo knelt on the bed, his upper body very straight and his head bowed, tousled curls hiding his face. Lily lay under him, one leg kicking helplessly, both arms hanging down on both sides of the mattress. Frodo's hands were closed around her neck in a deadly grip, and for a few frozen seconds Sam stood completely still, unable to believe what his eyes told him.
Then Mr. Frodo shuddered and let go. He stared down at Lily's silent figure, jerked back and gave a sudden, strangled cry. His voice set Sam's free. He screamed, took a flying leap and caught Frodo around the waist. In the next instant, his master lay on the floor, his face empty from shock and unmoving, but before Sam could rise to look after Lily, Rosie had appeared on the doorstep. She hurried past him in a flurry of nightgown and scarf and took Lily in her arms. Sam heard a wheezing gasp for air and a terrible fit of coughing and the young woman bucked up in his wife's embrace. Sam turned back to Mr. Frodo. Slowly, consciousness was returning to the wide, indigo eyes and he tried to sit up. Sam gathered himself and supported him, filled with grim relief and bewildered rage at the same time, and then he felt Mr. Frodo's wince as he began to realize what had happened.
"Oh no... what have I done? What have I done to her?"
Sam had seen Mr. Frodo on the quest, getting weaker and weaker while the ring tore at his mind, and he had seen him stumbling over Gorgoroth Plain, his feet bleeding, his back bend under the horrible burden of his task. He had seen him lying on the path leading up to the Sammath Naur, barely able to breathe, his face ashen, his exhausted will as cracked and ruined as his entire body.
But never before he had heard such a deep inconsolable desperation in his voice.
Mr. Frodo rose laboriously to his knees and then to his feet, shaking off Sam's hands. His eyes were dark pools of blazing horror in a grey face. Slowly, he drew back, turned around on the threshold and vanished in the dark hallway.
Sam stood up and made a few hesitating steps towards the door.
"No. No, love, don't."
"But... but I must!" he protested. "I must follow him! He needs..."
"Whatever he needs, it is certainly not you." Rosie spoke with a tired voice; she held Lily's head on her lap, gently stroking the long, tousled hair. "Better make sure that you are there for him when he comes back. He'll surely need you then."
*****
Sam wiped his face with his sleeve, the free hand blindly fumbling in his pocket for a cloth when suddenly someone wordlessly handed him what he was searching for. He blew his nose, dried his eyes and turned around to thank his wife.
But it was Lily.
Lily. She was fully dressed, her hair braided up to a neat crown on her head. Instinctively, Sam searched for marks on her neck, but she had covered them with a small, spotted handkerchief. She looked completely normal... except for her face. It was calm, impervious and very pale; even her lips had lost their color.
He gaped at her.
"Why are you up? You should be in your bed." His voice came out like a thin squeak. "And where... where is Rosie?"
"Still asleep. As is Elanor," Lily said. She spoke very softly. "Sam, where is Frodo?"
"I don't know." He looked down at his hands, avoiding her gaze. "He left the smial after he... after he..."
"... after he tried to kill me?" Lily shook her head. "He didn't try to kill me, he tried to kill Gollum. I suppose that in his nightmare the miserable creature tried to rob him of the ring."
"How do you..."
"I didn't spend all the days in the study for naught," Lily gently replied. "He gave me the Red Book, you know."
"I wanted to search for him," Sam said miserably. "But I... I didn't dare." This was his worst confession and perhaps his deepest defeat: he would have willingly laid his life in his beloved master's hands, but after the scene last night, he was afraid to leave his family unprotected - unprotected against the Ringbearer and savior of Middle Earth. The thought was unbearable and it brought fresh tears in to his eyes.
"He wouldn't harm anyone. It was not his fault at all... and the dream is over now." For a tiny moment Lily's voice faltered, but she quickly regained her control. "And you should stay here. If I don't find him, he should have you and Rosie to return to." Her tone grew a little softer. "Don't cry, Sam. It wasn't your fault either. Blame the Dark Lord and his evil trinket, blame the dark times we all lived in, but don't blame Frodo. He is paying a cruel price for his courage and the generosity of his heart."
She sighed and, for a brief moment, he felt her hand on his shoulder.
"There are a few things he and I have to talk about." She turned and walked towards the front door. He watched as she opened it and, when the early morning sun streamed in, he saw her slender figure like a sharp, black silhouette against the light. Then the door closed behind her and she was gone.
*****
Lily went to all the secret places she knew were his favorites in Hobbiton, and by six o clock in the morning, she had searched them all... but nowhere was there a trace of Frodo. Where could he be? He hadn't taken one of the ponies; when she looked into the stables, Bill, Strider and Morning Glory were still there, nodding sleepily and searching her skirt pockets with velvet soft noses for carrot or apple. Had he taken a knapsack to walk away into the wild? Had he left for the mysterious vale of Rivendell? Or did he have the feeling that he no longer deserved the great gift of the elves and decided to run away, without a plan, without a destination?
Lily came to a halt on the bridge to Bywater. She leaned over the banister, looking down into the clear water.
The river.
She closed her eyes.
How often had she seen it in his dreams... its winding course overlooked by the hundred windows of his childhood home? Frodo had been born to the sound of its small, rippling waves, he had swum from bank to bank, the green smell of reed and hempweed in his nose. There had been boat races and fishing competitions, and then the Brandywine had taken his parents and spit their dead bodies at his feet. He had mourned them, staring out at the grey surface and cursing the stream. He had turned his back to Buckland, but he could still hear the song of the water, he was still a child of the river.
The river.
She left the bridge in the direction of Hobbiton and took the path down to the bank by the Water. Over most of the distance it was clearly visible; only a few weeping willows hung their branches into the gentle current. But there was a small grove in the bend, the grove where they had hidden an eternity ago, to cool their bodies in a hot summer night and finally make love in the stream. She reached the first trees. Under their shadow, the early sun lost its strength and she wrapped her scarf - the old chestnut one, she had taken it without thinking - closer around herself. The ground was strewn with bright blotches of light that fell through the swaying branches, dancing green and gold, and it took a moment before she noticed the silent figure sitting near the riverbank, leaning against the trunk of an old, gnarled oak.
She had found him.
As she came closer, he slowly rose to his feet. He hadn't noticed her yet; his gaze hung on the pale, sun-speckled silver of the waves. He walked closer to the bank and into the river until he stood up to his ankles in the water. What was he up to? Did he---
"Frodo!"
At first she thought he hadn't heard her. She ran the last few meters until she felt the wet cool soil under her feet, the stream nipping at her toes.
"Frodo!"
He turned around and saw her, and for a moment the expression in his face was a sheer and overwhelming relief.
"Lily...! Are you---"
He reached for her, but then his hands fell to his sides and the light went out of his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was very soft, but it carried far in the silence under the trees. "Go home, please."
"I won't," she said. "I won't, unless you come with me."
His shoulders slumped.
"I don't have a home anymore." He spoke with grim certitude. "I have tried to kill the woman I love under my own smial's roof. Whatever right I might have had, I threw it away last night."
She was silent. She knew that one wrong word would put him to flight.
"It was a nightmare," she finally said, carefully feeling her way. "You didn't try to kill me. You tried to kill Sméagol."
"Whomever I dreamt of, my hands were around your neck," he whispered with a tired voice. "And it was not Sméagol who was lying in my bed, it was you."
To her surprise, she felt a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
"I can't imagine any reason why you should want to share your bed with that filthy creature anyway," she retorted dryly, "and had I found him there I would have probably tried to kill him myself."
He gave a tiny chuckle, but then he was quiet again, and she could see the deep, frightening desperation in his ashen face take over again.
"I don't know how you bear being close to me," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I don't understand what you are doing here... Have you come to tell me that after last night you don't want to marry me anymore? I knew it was a foolish dream. I can't be the husband you deserve... I would be nothing but a constant danger."
She looked away, shocked by the cold bitterness in his voice, the merciless self-accusation.
"I don't blame you," she said, laboriously keeping her composure; this was not the time for tears. "If this was anyone's fault, it was the ring. Or the Dark Lord. Or..." She hesitated, "you should blame the fact that there was an enormous price for ridding the world of evil... and that no one told you before that you would have to be the one to pay it."
A long silence.
"I don't know if they really knew," he finally said. "Only Gandalf... he... After I had met Bilbo in Rivendell on my way home and we passed the bridge over the Bruinen, I felt sick and weak, and there was a cold, lingering pain in my shoulder. And he rode beside me and suddenly asked: 'Are you in pain?' as if he knew. And when I said that I was, he said: 'There are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured.'"
Frodo came out of the water and stood beside her. He was shaking slightly. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his hand, and after a short moment of hesitation he accepted her touch.
"Did you reply to him?" she asked.
He turned his head away and she had to listen closely to hear his response.
"Yes, I did." He stared out on the river. The sun was rising over the treetops of the grove, and the dancing lights on the water grew brighter. "I said: 'I am wounded with knife, sting and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?'" Then he looked at her, and his eyes were dark with pain.
"I know that you are wounded." She touched his cheek. "During the past weeks I have spent each night with you. I have seen your memories... and not only the bright ones. I held you in my arms last October while you crawled up the mountain again in your dreams, the ring hanging from your neck like a deadly weight. I have heard you scream in my mind - more than once."
"I am sorry." His voice was nearly inaudible. "I'm so sorry, Lily."
"Stop that!" Rage welled in up inside of her, astonishingly strong and raw, banishing the sorrow. "Don't say that you're sorry. It won't lead us anywhere." She swallowed. "Perhaps it is I who should apologize. I love you, Frodo Baggins, more than my own life, but I won't marry you."
"Of course you won't." The exhaustion in his voice was deepening. "After what happened last night you would be mad to want to be my wife."
"No, Frodo, no." Lily cupped his face with both hands. "I had already made this decision before last night."
"You did - what?" He stood completely still, then he stepped back. His face was white and confused.
"I have seen too many of your nightmares." She spoke very softly. "I don't know why I can step into your mind as easily as if I were walking from room to room in my smial, but it has been that way each time we slept together since your return. Ever since you made love to me again. I may not know fully what that golden thing did to you, but I can follow the trace of your dreams, my love, and they are leading into the darkness. I can't heal you."
Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat.
"If I could see any chance for you to stay in the Shire, the wise, well-read master of Bag End, hero of countless adventures the folks at the Ivy Bush only half believe in... if I could see that we had any chance of a life together... I would risk it at once."
She laid one hand on his chest, feeling his heavy heartbeat under cloth and skin.
"If I believed that you could heal if you stayed here, that my love could some day be the cure for what eats you up inside... I would lie down beside you and endure every nightmare, even if it meant I awoke in the middle of the night to find the tip of Sting aimed directly at my breast."
Frodo stared at her, and suddenly sat down on the dew-damp grass as if his legs would no longer bear him. Lily followed his movement, kneeling in front of him, their eyes on the same level.
"I should have told you earlier," she continued. "But we've had such... such a blessed time together. I didn't want to spoil it as long as it lasted. It was as if I was afraid to shatter the last dream rooting you in Middle Earth. I am sorry, beloved - had I been more courageous and less selfish, last night might never have happened."
"It was not selfish to give yourself the way you did," he whispered.
She looked away, struggling to keep her voice even.
"Yes," she replied, staring down at her hands. "But had I told you that I would not be able to heal you, that you should leave with the elves when you asked me to marry me, you would have made the right decision much earlier. I wanted to protect you, and now I've hurt you instead."
He was silent. Lily could hear Hobbiton awakening around her; a shrill cockcrow greeting the day, the wheels of an early cart rattling down the path beneath the grove. Soon the first women would appear downstream rinsing their laundry in the river.
"Have you ever wished you had the chance to turn back time?" he suddenly asked.
Lily frowned. She didn't answer, not sure of what to say. He leaned in and took her hands.
"You know... that night when Lotho ambushed you for the first time after the Spring Dance, I made a decision. I suddenly understood how much you meant to me - not that I didn't care before!" he hastily added, "but suddenly I saw how much you had become a part of me, how lost I was without you by my side. I knew that the best way to protect you against Lotho's advances would have been to make you my wife. He would never have gained ground in Hobbiton, and he'd never have dared molest the mistress of Bag End." He sighed. "That was the first time that I wanted to give you Primula's ring."
"The night before the wizard came." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes." He looked at her, sorrow and rage mingled in his eyes. "After the tale he told me and understanding what I had to do with Bilbo's heirloom, I lost my courage. I wish I had asked you earlier...it's something for which I'll never forgive myself."
She leaned forward, her gaze suddenly as sharp as a knife. "Don't say that," she said, "don't torment yourself. Maybe you could have spared me - and the whole Shire - that miserable chief, but you forget Sharkey."
"Sharkey?"
"Yes, of course." She took a deep breath. "He would have come here, with or without Lotho."
He shook his head in protest. "But you would never have been in Bag End. I would have brought you to safety in Brandy Hall before I started from Crickhollow."
"And kept me from continuing my work as the midwife?"
"I don't know." He frowned. "Probably not. I would never have kept you from something you wanted to do."
"See?" Lily gave him a weak smile. "I would have stayed here with my family in Bag End, to care for the women of Hobbiton and Bywater, as I was used to do. And when Sharkey came, he would have learned that the Ringbearer left a wife behind when he went on his quest."
She could feel his hands tremble in her grip.
"Do you remember what I told you about the day when I met him? I only survived for one reason: he thought me to be the worthless harlot of the Ringbearer, nothing more. And even so I escaped only by hair's breadth. I distracted him with my memories of you, and he twitted me and drove me away. Had I been the mistress, he would have used me to take revenge for his loss of power. You would have come home to a murdered wife... and perhaps a slain child. Do you still want to turn back time?"
He shook his head, his face white as chalk. Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, but she didn't care.
"No, my love... you will sail with the elves, and I will stay here. I will help Rosie's many children into this world - yes, I have seen them in your dreams - and I will get older and remember you. My hair will turn grey and my face wrinkled, and someday my joints will start to hurt while I dance the springle ring. But I will keep my memories like a shining treasure, and I'll never have to see you stand before me asking why I clung to you and kept you from leaving while the door to the West stood open to you."
"Lily..."
Frodo started to shake violently, suddenly doubling over, and blindly reached out. Lily gathered him in her arms, and he sobbed, his face buried against her breast, his tears washing away pain and bitterness, anger and regret. She wept with him until he calmed, given at least a fragile peace. They cooled their faces in the clear, soothing river water and she took him by the hand and guided him home to Bag End.
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