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-Seven
A Morning in September
Three days later Lily Proudfoot moved back into her restored smial. While she cared for Rosie Gamgee and her daughter, Frodo Baggins had hired a carpenter who replaced the rattling window frames and a painter who whitened the walls in every room afresh. Lily Cotton gathered some goodwives, and new curtains were sown. Mrs. Cotton insisted on filling a chest with homespun linen - fresh bedding, a dozen nightgowns, twenty sleeveless shirts and a big heap of fine linen towels. "I have no idea when Lily will finally choose a husband - or if - but she should have enough household linen in any case," she said to her husband. "That at least is something I'm able to provide." And she closed the chest with a contented bang.
When Lily entered the smial, Sam Gamgee in tow carrying her bag, she hardly recognized her home. New brown tiles covered the floor and clean white walls greeted her with no trace of dust to be seen anywhere. A beautiful yellow tablecloth with a pattern of daisies lay on the kitchen table, and a bowl of fresh apples invited her to take a hearty bite.
"And new curtains!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder. "What has happened here?"
Sam put her bag on a chair, grinning.
"Rosie's mam has happened here, her friends and a good dozen of 'your' mothers," he replied. "They launched into this smial like a swarm of locust yesterday. Should there have been any vermin in here, I bet they've right died of shock." He chuckled. "Come, Lily. Mr. Frodo asked me to show you something."
She followed him out of the kitchen and they went down the corridor until they stood in front of what had once been her parents' bedroom. Sam opened the door and Lily stepped inside.
The old matrimonial bed was gone. The huge wardrobe had been replaced by a shelf and a dozen books with leather bindings stood in the panels. On the wall beside the big window hung a neatly framed map of the Shire, beautifully sketched with multi-colored ink. Lily knew the drawing; it belonged to Frodo and normally hung on the back wall of his study. A small desk, its tabletop highly polished, stood in a pool of morning sunlight. It was made of oak wood, with a smooth leather pad, a big ink pot and an ivory stand with a new quill. The chair in front of it looked very comfortable. There was a new carpet, too, made of soft wool in warm colors, decorated with ivy tendrils.
Lily went through the room and sank into the chair. She had been right; it was indeed comfortable.
"The furniture comes from the storerooms of Bag End," Sam answered her unspoken question. "Mr. Frodo has told us exactly what to move here. He said you can choose something else if you don't like them."
Frodo.
"Oh... I like them, Sam, I really do." Lily gazed up at him. "I'm rather overwhelmed."
"Lily..." Sam shuffled his feet uneasily. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you think he will ever be what he once has been?"
"Oh Sam..." Lily sighed. "You can't turn back time. He will never be what he was before he learned what the power of an evil trinket could do to his soul. You will never again be the simple gardener of Bag End either. People sing songs about Samwise the Brave. You are a hero, whether you like it or not." And I am changed, too. The act of loving someone whose deed to save Middle Earth left an incurable wound in his heart has also marred my heart.
"He is so silent these days," Sam murmured.
"Give him time." And may he find the right words to tell you that he's leaving... and that he'll never come back.
Sam went home half an hour later, and Lily unpacked her bag. She had just hung the last blouse into the wardrobe when a cart stopped in front of the smial; Bungo Oakbranch had come to fetch her for his wife. Four years after the birth of his first, a son, the Lady had blessed him with a second child, and Lily spent the afternoon and the whole evening helping Tulip to deliver a healthy daughter. She was intensely grateful for the daily routine of her work; it kept her from dwelling on things she didn't want to think about, not now.
She returned to the smial at sunset, rightfully tired. There was enough in the basket Tulip had presented her with to provide her with a luxurious dinner, a breakfast and probably every meal for the next two days, but she was not hungry. She filled the bathtub and soaked her stiff limbs until dusk fell and the light in the kitchen grew dim. Then she climbed out of the water, lit the candles in the old brass holder and wrapped herself in a big linen towel from Lily Cotton's chest.
*****
He came under the cover of night, walking on soundless feet down the garden path to the kitchen window. The curtains were not completely closed, and he saw her sitting beside the burning candles. The flickering light kindled red golden sparks in her wet hair. She was combing it with slow, regular movements. He could anticipate her soft curves under the cloth, and with a mixture of bittersweet joy and sorrow he felt his body respond.
After that terrible night he had kept away from her bed, afraid to fall asleep in her arms, afraid to dream again, but he missed her, he wanted her, oh stars, he needed her so much. She knew that he was there before he could even attract her attention, and without a word she opened the window. He climbed inside, feeling clumsy and obtrusive, and Lily stood before him, silent and with a small, mysterious smile. He wanted to say something, he wanted to apologize for not leaving her in peace, but then her hand came up and caressed his cheek, and her thumb followed the line of his lips. He saw her eyes, glittering amber in warm candlelight, and with a soft whisper the towel slid down and revealed her body, so familiar, so beautiful. His heart missed a beat, and then she pressed against him with her whole length, and he kissed her, long and deep and hungry and heard her gasp into his mouth, and there was no need for excuses anymore.
*****
Later people said that the August of 1421 was nearly as beautiful as the August of 1420, the legendary "year of blessing" - if not better. The days were not too hot and the nights pleasantly cool, and from time to time a gentle shower refreshed the gardens and made the children dance under the soft spray of water. The fields were golden with wheat and it appeared the harvest of apples and prunes would be as spectacular as the last one. The master of Bag End made long walks, and those who knew him a bit better found him more amenable and friendly than he had ever been, even before he went away on that strange journey. Sam and Rosie noticed that he left nearly every night and returned shortly before sunrise. They didn't ask, for they knew where he was going.
Then September came and, again the crop outdid all expectations. Baby Elanor crawled happily through the smial and started to pull herself up on every stool or desk available and, shortly before his birthday, Frodo asked Sam to come into his study. He told him that he would go to Rivendell to visit Bilbo, probably for the last time.
"Well, Sam," said Frodo, "I want you to see Rose and find out if she can spare you, so that you and I can go off together. You can't go far for a long time now, of course," he said a little wistfully.
"Well, not very well, Mr. Frodo."
"Of course not. But never mind. You can see me on my way. Tell Rose that you won't be away very long, not more than a fortnight; and you'll come back quite safe."
"I wish I could go with you all the way to Rivendell, Mr. Frodo, and see Mr. Bilbo," said Sam. "And yet the only place I really want to be is here. I'm that torn in two."
"Poor Sam! It will feel like that, I'm afraid," said Frodo, "But you will be healed. You were meant to be solid and whole, and you will be."*
Sam mused about these last words the whole day, and when he and Rosie lay in their bed that evening, he suddenly remarked: "I guess that's the reason why he didn't speak."
"Who didn't speak to whom?" Rosie's head lay on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him, and he felt her breath warm and soft on the bare skin of his chest.
"Mr. Frodo," Sam explained. "He didn't ask Lily to marry him, not yet. I guess he wants to see Bilbo first, and tell him about it. 'Tis a nice thought that the old master of Bag End should see the day when the young one finally takes a wife."
Rosie frowned.
"Don't rack your brains about what is not your business at all," she chided in a mild tone, her fingertips painting a lazy pattern of endearments on his sun-tanned skin. "Let them sort things out themselves. And he wouldn't sneak each night down to the Proudfoot smial if he didn't love her, would he?"
Sam smiled into the darkness.
"You are right, lass..." He caught her hand and reached out until he could pull his wife into a rapidly deepening kiss. "Let's just wait..." his voice was a little breathless now "... and see..." a bolt of sudden, delicious heat shot through his body when Rosie's hand continued its exploration over his belly and deeper, "what happens---" And that was the end of the conversation for the moment as he rolled her over and stifled her laughter with his lips.
"Don't fret, you ninny," he told himself much later as Rosie lay beside him in deep, sated slumber. "You have a wonderful wife, a beautiful daughter and a fine master. He may be very silent these days, but his wounds are finally healing. Lily will make him happy, and we will see Gamgee babes and Baggins children grow up together. All's well as ends better!" he mused, quoting one of Gaffer Gamgee's favorite sayings, and then he smiled and fell asleep.
*****
September 20, late in the evening.
She didn't know if he would come. She had told him that she would understand if he wanted to spend the last night in Hobbiton under Bag End's roof, enjoying the company of "his" small family. They had embraced in the grey light of dawn that morning, and she hadn't known what to say. How could one bid farewell to a person who wouldn't die - but who would leave the borders of the world to sail for a land so strange and different that she shied from the mere thought of imagining it? Tomorrow he would go... she knew it. She had encouraged him to stay true to his decision, and she understood it was the right thing for him to do... but it was not real, not yet. She stood in the back garden, inhaling the sweet scent of the sleeping flowerbeds and fighting the growing impression that the world around her had lost its substance, leaving behind nothing more than a dream. Perhaps I'll wake tomorrow, she thought, and I will hear my parents' voices, and baby Marco will be screaming in his cradle, and the last twenty years have never happened.
But then there came the touch of a familiar hand on her shoulder, and with a soft click the world slipped back into place. She turned, his arms held her and she had to swallow a sob. "You're here," she whispered, "you've come", and she buried her face against his chest, surrounded by the faint scent of his body and clothing - herbs and soap and pipeweed - and the familiar aroma suddenly made her feel dizzy.
"Of course I've come." He spoke into her hair. "How could I not?"
She sighed. "Did you tell Sam the truth?"
He shook his head." No," he confessed. "No, he still believes that I'm going to Rivendell."
"He will be terribly upset." She gazed up at him; his face became indistinct in the growing darkness.
"I know." She could feel his unease in the tightening grip of his hands and the tension of his body. "But I simply didn't have the heart to wipe the joy and confidence off of his face. Do you understand that?"
"Of course." There was nothing she could understand better.
Lily guided him inside and into the chamber with the new bed. She lit the candles on the nightstand and watched him undress for the very last time. The room was very quiet and the sound of buttons popping up and rustling cloth was astonishingly loud in her ears. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her with dark eyes as she took off her clothes as well. When she was naked, she came over to him and he stopped her, both hands reverently around her waist.
"Let me look at you," he whispered, "I want to remember this..." and his gaze worshipped her body, slowly, lovingly, until she reached out and he finally pulled her close, stroking her back and caressing her breasts with mouth and hands. Lily ran her fingers along his legs, tenderly feeling her way to his hips and belly, brushing over fine curls and velvet soft skin over a throbbing hardness. She heard his sharp intake of breath, laid both hands on his shoulders and sank down on him, pinning herself on his desire. They found their rhythm, first slowly and gently, then faster and with increasing urgency.
She felt his lips on her skin.
don't stop
His strength was once more like an anchor in the center of her womanhood, hot and slick from her wetness and deliciously strong.
don't stop oh please
She felt the fiery wave building up in her body, sending sparks under her skin and setting her aflame.
don't stop now oh never never ohhh
She rose and came crashing down again and saw his face, his lips drawn back in a grimace of passion and pain.
don't stop don't go don't leave
And then she came with a scream and heard his panting, low response. He sank back on the bed and pulled her atop of him as his strength moved inside of her again, once, twice... The last, powerful thrust sent her over the edge for the second time. She let herself fall into his violent climax and then burst into tears. He held her, whispering her name like an incantation until she calmed and then lay still.
*****
She woke in the hour before dawn surrounded by music. To her surprise, she realized that it was his soft and gentle voice singing...
See yellow leaves sail, it is time for the fall
Hasten, my love... oh please hear my call!
Come run through the fields, through the golden wheat
Come into my garden, come make me complete.
She opened her eyes and stirred in his arms. She was sure that she'd never heard the song before, but somehow the words were... familiar.
"Do I know that?"
"I wrote it the night after the Spring Dance, the year I left for the quest. I sang it to you while you slept, but I don't think you heard it."
Frodo sighed.
"I would hardly call it a masterpiece. It had four verses - not very good, I fear, and the last one... well, I had to change it. Again, it is nothing more than a poor attempt."
"No one has ever written a song for me before." She turned to him, seeking his gaze in the dim light of the bedroom. "Sing it to me, please. All the verses."
He sighed again, and then he began once more.
"See the red tulips, flowers of spring
Hear the sweet tune for you, love, hear me sing
Frost and Winter are gone, come to me
Open your heart, my love, hear my plea.
See the red roses, summer has come
Fly into my arms, love, let's dance in the sun
Give me your soul, love, your body, your heart
Never again, love, let us be apart"
Again the world seemed to dissolve before her very eyes, and though she'd never been on the ocean before, she suddenly saw herself sailing on salty waves, cradled by the warm sound of his voice... perhaps to that land she had seen a wondrous glimpse of when her fingers had closed around the elven queen's gift.
"See yellow leaves sail, it is time for the fall
Hasten, my love... oh please hear my call!
Come run through the fields, through the golden wheat
Come into my garden, come make me complete.
Snow covers the Hill, frost lies in the air
Red flames in the fireplace, come, love, meet me there
Come let me hold you, my treasure, my life
Stay with me forever, love..."
The song broke off and she felt his lips on her cheek. "... and be my wife" he whispered. "That was what I wanted to ask that April, before Gandalf came."
I know she thought, her heart heavy as a stone in her chest. I know.
"I wrote a new verse, a few days ago when I finished my work at the Red Book. Do you want..."
"Yes. Of course."
"This is my last summer here, love, take my hand
I must go away now, to a strange, foreign land
I must leave you behind, love, but I'll never forget
Your eyes and your laughter, the day we first met
The touch of your hand and the sound of your voice
I want to stay with you, but I have no choice
I will love you forever, it's bitter to part
As long as I live, you will be in my heart."
He was silent. She lay with her head on his chest, listening to his slow, regular heartbeat.
"Thank you," she finally said, "thank you so much. This was an unexpected gift... the most beautiful song I've ever heard. It is... wonderful."
"I want you to keep the ring."
"But I'm not your wife, love."
He propped up on his elbow. "It is true that you never married me, but you'll always be mine. The necklace is still in Bag End. I will ask Sam to give it to you too."
"Are you sure you don't want to give it to Elanor?"
"Yes, I am. Should you wish to give it to her someday, it will be your decision, of course."
Someday - what does that mean? One year? Ten years? Twenty?
She felt him climb out of the bed and heard the soft hissing of tinder as he lit the candle on the nightstand again. He took his clothes and she watched him as she had a few hours before... The last time, she thought the very last time, and still it wasn't real. When he was fully dressed, she got up and followed him through the room. He opened the door and the cool, fresh air of a very early morning came in with a breeze, ruffling her hair and billowing her nightgown.
Frodo turned around to her, reaching out.
"Farewell, Lily," he said softly. "Farewell, my love. Whatever I will see in the wondrous land the ship carries me to, you will remain in my heart until the very last day of my life... and beyond."
She kissed his hands, suppressing the shiver that ran down her spine.
"Don't promise too much, love," she whispered. "I don't know what lies... beyond. The only thing I know is that you're leaving... and that I'll have to do my very best to go on without you by my side."
"You have Sam and Rosie," he said gently, "and they have you. You are the family I leave behind. And we will meet again, my indil... some day, in this world or in the next. I will find you, Lily, I promise."
He leaned down and their lips met... tender, almost chaste this time, like the very first kiss he had taken from her on a cold February evening an eternity ago.
"I will wait until you come for me," she replied, her voice nearly inaudible. "I will wait."
He pulled her close and she clung to him, but only for a moment. It was she who finally drew back from his embrace, and she who stood upright and still in the doorframe as he slowly walked down the path. He stopped in front of the garden gate, looking back over his shoulder.
"I love you, Lily Proudfoot." She reached out as if to catch the words in her palm.
I love you, Frodo Baggins. In this world and beyond.
He vanished around the dew-silvered hedge and was gone.
*****
Eight days later
It had been raining all afternoon and when Lily returned from her rounds and walked along the garden path, water splashed around her feet. She opened the door, dried her feet on the towel that hung on a hook at the wall and stepped into the quiet kitchen.
Primula Rootdelver had obviously been here; the floor was glossy and neat, the plates from her breakfast that morning were clean and stood in the cupboard where they belonged and a faint scent of soap hung in the air.
Lily was very tired. Pansy Bracegirdle, Aster Bracegirdle's daughter-in-law, had given birth to twins and it had been a hard task to care for mother and children. She was thankful for the amount of work that had kept her busy by daylight and helped her to sleep through the nights, but she knew that she was reaching the end of her rope. And she was even more afraid what might happen when there was not so much to do anymore. Too much time to think was dangerous.
Visits were dangerous, too. Rosie had already invited her twice, but each time she had found an excuse to keep away from Bag End. The day when she would be able to talk about Frodo Baggins without a breathtaking pang of pain in her heart would surely come, but it lay far in the future. She had no idea how she would be able to look Sam in the eye when he came back. At least he would come back.
When she opened the door to the pantry, she discovered a small minced meat pie, still warm and pleasant smelling, beside a jar of fresh milk covered with a piece of cloth to keep the flies from it. The pie obviously came directly from Rosie's oven, and Lily's pang of conscience bit deeply. She took pie, milk, a mug and a fresh plate with her to the kitchen, sat down at the table and ate.
After her meal she wandered over to the study. Pale sunlight had found its way through the thick clouds, painting bright circles on the desk. Her gaze found the map on the wall. How far had they gone by now? She followed the long, dark line with one fingertip - Waymoot, Michel Delving and the eastern road, leading to unknown lands, to the Far Hills and beyond, to the sea.
Beyond.
She leaned over the desk and opened the window. Damp air streamed in, smelling of harvested fields and wood smoke, and she took a deep breath.
Where are you, my love?
And as if her voice had miraculously overcome the distance, there was a sudden wind, and it swept away the scent of damp farmland and green hills and brought a new aroma, unknown and strange, and yet she recognized it at once.
Salt water.
Lily stared outside with eyes unseeing, her body taut as a bowstring.
The ship. They are sailing.
Her hands closed around the window sill, and her mind reached out into the early evening, searching, feeling... there was a ship, yes, and the soft, rocking movement of waves under the elegant white body, and the shrill, echoing call of unknown birds. Somewhere, on the edge of it all, she could feel Sam, his heart overflowing with a pain as deep and as raw as her own. Dear Sam... and then, from one moment to the next, she was wrapped in warmth and light, as real as an embrace, a warmth, filling her heart and body until she thought she could bear no more of it...
Lily.
"Frodo...!?"
It was over, suddenly. She blinked and sank down into the chair, breathing fast and hard. With one hand, she fumbled one of the drawers open and found the small velvet bag. The ring slipped into her palm and she stared down at the amber flower, shaken and blind with tears.
"My heart..." she whispered. "Oh, my heart..."
May the boat carry you to lands of green and silver, and may the light of the stars shine upon you as bright as the light in your soul. Journey safe, my love.
She pressed the ring against her lips and sat completely still, eyes closed, until the sun had sunk behind the horizon and the sky was dark and grey.
I will wait.
*The five paragraphs before this * are taken directly from Tolkien's book.
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