Goodnight
Large eyes peered at him from under crisp linen sheets, the flickering candlelight playing on the young lad's face. Night noises sounded softly through the round open window , causing the curtains to flutter gently against the green papered walls, the colour of summer leaves when the sun shines through them.
'Goodnight, Frodo my lad. It's been a long day,' Bilbo said from the doorway, his eyes twinkling as they regarded his nephew, now his new ward and heir. Frodo shot a smile at his uncle. As Bilbo turned and made to leave the room, Frodo spoke up.
'Bilbo, could... Could you tell me a story? It's just, Mother always used to, and - no one ever did at Brandy Hall...' he trailed off, unsure; he was a tween, after all, too old for bedtime stories...
Bilbo smiled gently at Frodo, noted the tension in his shoulders and uncertainty in those large doe-eyes of his. 'Of course, my boy.'
Frodo relaxed at his uncle's words, and Bilbo crossed over to the bed and sat on the armchair. He picked up a book from the nightstand, battered and well-thumbed.
'This was my favourite at your age,' Bilbo said as he flicked through the volume, until he came to the page he wanted. Drawing a breath, he began to read, his voice conjuring visions and pictures in Frodo's mind like no one else could; the melodious lilt soothing him to slumber.
' "In a corner of the Shire, not too far from here, lives an incredibly old hobbit in a smial built under an oak tree; his house wears the tree like a crown. The old hobbit in question is even more peculiar than his home... " '
Frodo recognised the story; it was one his mother had told him as a child. Comforted by the familiar words, Frodo was soon asleep, his head sinking deep into the pilows and a peaceful smile on his face. Bilbo looked at the lad as he slept, and a wave of tenderness washed over his heart.
'Welcome home, my dear Frodo,' he whispered as he pressed a soft kiss to the lad's forehead.
A lone candle guttered and flickered in the breeze that blew in through the round window, left open, and the curtains whispered as they brushed the wall - still a sunny green. The green of summer; not the autumn of his heart.
He looked at the child in the bed - golden curls tumbling about her face as she looked up at him. The only difference in the room now was that the covers were a soft rosebud pink, where they had been sky blue all those years before.
He held a book in his hand, a tome well loved; he barely needed it now, the words were so ingrained in his mind. He sat on the armchair where once an old hobbit with grey hair had sat to comfort a dark haired scrap of a hobbit. He smiled at the image; he had been whole, then.
When he was settled, the little girl curled up and watched him as he began to read.
' "In a corner of the Shire, not too far from here, lives an incredibly old hobbit..." '
Her eyes drooped, and soon she was asleep; lost in dreams of summer sunshine and rolling hills. He dreamt always of the sea.
Quietly so as not to wake her, he shut the book and placed it back on the night stand, where it had lived since his first day at Bag End.
As he watched her, Frodo's heart tugged a little. He would miss her. He would miss them all... Rosie, little Frodo,Sam... But he was ready to go. Unconsciously his hand gripped the elven pendant he wore under his shirt; he knew he would go.
He pressed a kiss to the little girl's forehead.
'Goodnight, my sweet Elanor. Goodbye.'
For the last time, Frodo left the room on silent feet and made his way to his own bed. On his final night at Bag End, Frodo dreamt of an old hobbit, who looked curiously like his uncle Bilbo, who lived in a smial under an oak tree.
A/N: I'm coming home today, so this is a home-coming gift for you all :P I really hope you enjoy :D
By the way, I really didn't mean for this to be so depressing at the end... Sorry :)