Frodo Baggins sat by the fire, a cup of tea in his hands and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His blue eyes were dull. His left hand rested on the little red book on his lap, and his head was lowered. Someone entered the house, but he did not look up. Not until he was being lifted up and carried to bed did he realize that the visitor was Aragorn.
"Aragorn," he moaned. Aragorn smiled down at him.
"Rest, gentle Hobbit," the king of Gondor murmured. He tucked the Hobbit into bed. "I shall stay with you." Frodo smiled.
"Thank you," he said.
"It was nothing," Aragorn muttered. "I saw your lights on, and I decided it was time for you to go to bed."
"Sing," he mumbled. Aragorn nodded.
"There is a path ahead,
A way, passed by the dead.
It is guarded by the angels of doom,
But rest for now,
Oh rest for now,
For death is long in coming.
Your time is long away,
Your time is not today.
Rest now, litte one.
Sleep now little one.
Gather your strength for the coming war.
Gather your strength, and defeat the dark.
Frodo sighed and rolled over. He was asleep. "Hobbits," Aragorn chuckled. He stood and crept back into the night, still marveling at the sweet innocence of Hobbits.