Till the End of His Days
Author: nacey
Email: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au
Category: Drama, Romance, AU
Rating: PG
Spoilers: All six books.
Summary: The story of Frodo's life after the journey of the Ring.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JRR Tolkien, and Tolkien Enterprises. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: This story is not edited. The final version may differ greatly from the one you are reading right now. I'm putting this up because people will never get to read it if I wait till it's finished, as I've got a lot of non-fandom projects going on that I'm putting most of my energies into. Anyway, back to the story... I very much thought that Lord of the Rings didn't need fan-fiction when I was reading it, until I read the ending. Then I saw the movies and it inspired me to write this little "Alternate-Universe" fic. I think that the ending that Tolkien did was absolutely perfect, and this is just my attempt at a different idea of what it could be like, mainly borne of my experience being amongst and being a person living with depression (I believe that poor Frodo had one of the most chronic cases of Post-Traumatic Stress that ever was). Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms. As is anyone that would like to help me beta this bloody leviathan of a fic.
Website: http://www.nancylorenz.com/lothlorien/
~~*~~
Chapter Six - An Unexpected Arrival
The following morning was warmer than the last, though Frodo wasn't sure whether it was the actual weather, the extra blanket, or the warm thing he was lying against. He fancied Ferdinand had snuck his way in through an open window in Perry's room, and perhaps was sleeping on top of him. Half asleep, he reached to stroke the cat, finding in his hand instead dark thick, luxuriously soft but altogether hobbitish curls. He opened an eye, shifting a little, not wanting to disturb his perfect sleep unless it was entirely necessary. Looking to his hand he saw that there was very definitely a hobbit in his bed. On top of him, in fact, the blankets sandwiched in between them, a rough knitted one pulled over the shoulders of the other. He knew that dark hair anywhere, and he felt a flutter in his chest at the though of his hand being sunk into those curls he'd appreciated so many times… they were so very soft. He didn't remember much from yesterday, only pain, such pain. And eyes… brown eyes. The sweetest brown eyes he could ever remember gazing into. He tried to shift a little, but the stirring caused the girl on top of him to groan a little in her sleep. She shifted herself, wrapping an arm around him protectively and squeezing him tightly. He felt a blush rage in his cheeks, as this was very much improper. He loathed to do it, but he put his hand to her shoulder (that he discovered to be achingly smooth), and shook her lightly.
"Miss Perry… Miss Perry."
She started awake, a gasp lifting from her. "Oh! What time is it?" She didn't seem entirely awake, and Frodo smiled with some affection.
"I'm not quite sure. Erm…" He looked about himself. "May I ask what you are doing on my bed? And is that cold soup on the table?"
"Ohhh," She sat up, blushing terribly, shaking like a leaf. "Oh don't get angry, Mr. Baggins, please don't. I was just looking after you, Sir, like I promised I would. I brought you the soup, and the water, and you fell asleep in my lap, Sir. I got comfortable on the wall and I must have nodded off. I beg you to forgive me, please!" She had gotten herself into quite a state at this point, and Frodo just took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"I thank you, Perry," he said. "I don't remember much from yesterday, but I do remember you being there." He frowned. "And Sam."
Miss Perry smiled. "Oh, I think he's always tryin' to be there Sir, when you're in a fix, that is."
"Yes, I think so too." He stretched a little, Perry creeping back out of his way and off the bed.
"I'll go clean up these things, and if you're hungry I'll make you breakfast."
Frodo massaged his scarred shoulder and pressed his lips together, brows knitting with the thoughtful smile that made his way on his face. "I think I shall help you today."
Perry stopped, turning to look over her shoulder very slowly. "Sir?"
"I put you through much yesterday, Perry. I wish to thank you properly."
"Oh you don't have to, Mr. Frodo," she said, shaking her head. "Oh no, I was just doing what you brought me here to do."
"You did more than I ever expected of you," he said, eyeing her firmly and yet warmly. "I very much needed someone to be there, and you didn't leave my side. That means more to me than you could imagine."
That morning they made pancakes together and Frodo treated Perry as kindly as he ever had, sitting her at the table like a right lady-hobbit. He even dug into some of Bilbo's old wine that had been stashed away in his Brandybuck hole but had since been returned, even if it was far too early in the day for that sort of thing. He wouldn't allow her to do any of her work that day. No cleaning, no washing up. He told her to get into her fairest summer dress, and he borrowed Sam's small cart and Bill the Pony (for Strider the Pony hated being strung to the cart, for some strange reason, but loved being ridden).
"Where are we going, Mr. Baggins?"
"There's a little place down the Bywater that I know of," he said. "I wish to take you there and have a picnic."
"Please, Mr. Frodo," she said softly. "What I did - it was nothing. It's not worth all of this."
"Your service to me has been impeccable," said Frodo. "You have long since deserved this day, Miss Perry."
Perry couldn't ever remember having such a time. She was reminded of Frodo's modest wealth and fine upbringing as they ate and talked together on the banks of the Water. The place Frodo had taken her to was a small grove, willows on either side of the small clearing that hugged the river, long lush grass cradling them, deep blue sky above and gentle forest all about them. They could feel the forest living all about them, curious eyes watching them, birds flittering and hanging about in the trees in hopes of scavenging crumbs. Frodo told Perry stories of his journey, even though she had heard much of it before. Then he told her about Weathertop, and about the Black Riders, and the wound he had taken. She had not heard those before, not from Frodo. For a moment, things were very sombre.
Then Frodo smiled, and asked to hear a story from Perry.
"I only know about farms and hobbit things," she said to him.
"When I was far from home, I dreamt of farms and hobbit things," he said. "Of smiling folk and good food. Music, laughter. I love these things, Perry, so dearly, that I went on these journeys to protect them. When you sing of these things, and tell stories of these things, it makes me love my home even more." He nodded. "I feel happy, because you are here to tell me of them, and you are not in danger anymore."
Perry's eyes became dewy, and her heart sighed deep in her chest. "All right, Mr. Frodo."
She decided to tell him of her past, of her childhood and her games. She then told him of darker times, of the ruling of Proudfoot Farm by the tall Men and the frightened Shirriffs. Frodo's eyes grew sad as she told him these tales, not just for the ruining of the Shire, but the terrible hardships Perry was put through. He grew to understand why she was so grateful to him and what he did for the Shire, though he knew after their time together it was probably more to her loyalty than simple graciousness.
Frodo and Perry lived on as they had done in the hobbit hole at the Hill, the seasons passing into one another in their never-ending graceful dance. Frodo fell ill again early in March, and by talking to Sam, Perry learnt that it was due to the bite of Shelob, and it had come to haunt Frodo once again. Like the first time he had taken ill, Perry stayed by his side, keeping him warm and secure. Frodo was fine the day afterwards, as before with the sickness of his old scar, and again was very thankful to Perry for her vigilance and care. It was barely a week after this that a panting and panic-stricken Sam Gamgee pounded the door of Bag Hall; his cheeks a deep red and sweat on his brow.
"Oh help me! Come right away Miss Perry!" he cried as Frodo opened the door, Perry close behind, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.
Frodo frowned. "Sam, whatever is wrong?"
"It's Rosie, Mr. Frodo! She's havin' her baby!"
Perry gasped, dropping the tea-towel and racing out the door with an excited squeal. Frodo looked to Sam, sighing with a smile and patting him on the shoulder. "Come on then, let's help out. Have you sent for a midwife?"
"Old Mother Proudfoot is on her way," said Sam, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Perry should be fine help till she arrives."
Perry was already in the Gaffer's place down New Row, running into the room where she could hear Rosie huff and puff. When Frodo arrived Sam was off to find Mother Proudfoot, and he was left to run and fetch things for Perry. It was quite a strange experience for him, being on wait to the girl that had waited on him all this time. It surprised him that she knew exactly what she was doing, but he remembered then that her mother was the best midwife in all of Hobbiton, having twelve of her own youngin's and helping with countless others. In his many trips to the room, the last thing he expected was for Perry to stick her head around the door and ask for two warm cups of tea. He fetched them, and upon entering Rosie's room, was most surprised to see her sitting up in bed and smiling wearily.
"Rosie!" he exclaimed. "Has the baby come?"
Rosie laughed, jocularity glowing faintly on her stressed but still beautiful face. "Oh goodness no, Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo blushed. "Then, was it a false alarm?"
"Not at all," said Perry, "It's just a lull in the contractions." Frodo only looked confused. "The body rests, you see, between pushin' out the baby."
"Oh…" Frodo looked thoughtful. "How long does having a baby usually take?"
"Hours, Mr. Frodo," said Perry earnestly.
"Sometimes days," added Rosie, taking a long sip of her tea as if to brace herself.
Frodo's cheeks grew pale. He could very well be waiting for the baby to be born for… well he dreaded to think. His stomach churned in worry for Rosie, and what she was about to go through. He hadn't witnessed any births in all of his life, and the details of them were never something he took much interest in, nor were they all that readily available to the gentlehobbits without some embarrassing discussions with the ladies. Still, he felt reassured somehow that Perry was there for Rosie until her mother arrived. He vaguely remembered what a wonderful nurse she had made when he had been ill those days ago.
Rosie's relaxed face shifted, and she put the teacup down, knuckles white, her back growing rigid and straight. "Ohhh, Ohh! Another one Perry! Oh bless me it's strong!"
Perry took a hold of Rosie's hands and looked her dead in the eyes. "Relax, now, Rosie… remember what I told you. Deep breathin' now… think about the breathin'. Just the breathin'."
Rosie clenched her eyes closed, gripping Perry's hands tightly and clenching her teeth. "Oh but it does hurt!" she cried.
Frodo's skin crawled strangely, and bolting upright he ran from the room. "I'll get more hot water!"
Perry shook her head with a fond smile. "We don't need no bloody hot water." She knew Frodo would have made any excuse he could possibly think of to leave the room at that time. Gentlehobbits weren't normally present at birthing, let alone the birthing of their best friend's wives.
Frodo made his way to the sitting room, wringing his fingers, trying not to ponder on the noises coming from the Gamgee's bedroom. The thought of Rosie in all that pain had him in quite a state. He paced to and fro in front of the hearth, stomach fluttering in his chest, anxiousness eating him alive then and there. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fumbling for his weed and pipe, sadly coming up empty. He remembered then that he'd left them at Bag Hall in the rush. He sighed to himself, and slowly, he sat down on Sam Gamgee's footstool, running his fingers through his hair. So wrought was he, that he almost jumped a foot in the air when his gardener came bursting into the door.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo there you are!" he exclaimed. "Mother Proudfoot is nearly here! Oh my, I hope you forgive me, Sir, I hope you do because I borrowed your pony, he's so much faster than Bill, and I'd sent my old Gaffer out after her but he's been takin' forever so I got on your pony and I raced to Hobbiton myself, Sir, I overtook him and then I found Mrs. Proudfoot at the market buying tomatoes an' I told her and she's on a cart cause she said to me, 'Now you listen to me, Samwise Gamgee, I'm right too old to be ridin' on saddles on the backs of ponies now, you take me there on a cart and we'll be seeing the missus then!' and then I put her on the cart with the Gaffer and I rode back here." Sam gasped, gulping in huge breaths after the longest Frodo had possibly ever heard him ramble. "And… Mother Proudfoot is down the road, Sir. She's nearly here."
Frodo smiled, worry plain in his eyes. "It's all right, Sam."
"Oh where's me pipe!" sighed Sam.
Frodo looked about himself as Sam dug about for his weed and pipe. "I'm not sure. I was just about to have a pipe myself, but I've left both my weed and my pipe at home."
Sam nodded. "Well come on then, Mr. Frodo, we'll go fetch it. It'll be good to walk along the road and see if Mother Proudfoot is here yet."
At this time Rosie had breathed her way through the contractions she had started when Frodo had been in the room. She took a rest, sighing, the pain ever-present and growing steadily worse. Sweat began to make itself at home on her blushing brow, and her thoughts began to drift. She frowned, gulping, reaching for water.
"Water," she muttered, and Perry handed it to her. "Talk to me. Please."
Perry smiled soothingly, running her hand over Rosie's hair. "Mother Proudfoot will be here real soon, Rosie. She'll help the baby along nicely."
"No, about you, about how things are at Bag Hall." She pulled her light blue eyes to Perry's then. "I want to know, I worry about you sometimes."
Perry gave a smiling frown. "Me?"
Rosie nodded slowly. "You love him so much, dear. Sometimes I think it's all not very fair on you."
Perry felt a blush rage in her cheeks, and she shrugged. "I wouldn't be by anybody else's side, Rosie. You know that."
"What do you do," asked Rosie, a dent of curiosity in her brow. "With all that time alone, what do you do?"
The questions Rosie was asking were very personal, but Perry understood that under normal circumstances she never would have asked them. Well, she may have, but she would have used much more tact and guile as per her regular fashion.
"Erm… well. I make him his dinner-"
"I know that, I know that," Rosie said, waving a hand. "What then?"
Embarrassment was burning Perry to the core. She sighed. "Erm… We talk."
"About?"
"Our lives, I suppose, silly things. Stories, old times. He tells me about beautiful things, like Elves and Rivendell and the land of Tom Bombadil. And I tell him of the Shire, and of little things. He loves the little things, like having problems milking cows or struggling with the turnips." Perry was thoroughly immersed in her train of thought now. "And sometimes we share songs. He sings songs he learnt in the land of the Riders, and in Gondor. He sings songs he wrote, too. Beautiful things, they are. My favourite songs are the Elf songs." Perry nodded. "But the strangest thing is he loves it when I sing my songs. I think nothing of them, but he thinks they're very precious."
Rosie smiled faintly. "That sounds lovely. I think Frodo would hate to be without you." Perry began to shrug, but Rosie grabbed her shoulder, shaking her head. "No, I can see it, Perry. I see it very clearly. I just - I wonder if he realises that he cannot have you forever like this… neither with him or away from him. Your parents will not wait," Rosie paused in pain. "They will not wait for you to choose a husband forever. And what will you do then? What will Frodo do?"
Perry closed her eyes, frowning, tears forming in her eyes. "I don't know."
"I'm sorry," said Rosie, coming into herself a moment, taking her hand away from Perry. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk of such things, not now. Oh… I don't feel very good."
Absently wiping a tear away, Perry nodded. "You won't. You have a baby trying to worm its way out of your womb."
"You're not helping."
Perry smiled, even though there was still a little sadness in her eyes. "Sorry."
At that moment, Mother Proudfoot swept her way into the room; ready to work her magic, for a good midwife was like magic on the heightened anxiety of an expectant mother. It wasn't just the hot towels and the water and the tea. It was calming the mother, bringing her out of her panic and helping her concentrate on relaxing and pushing at the exact moment. Perry watched her mother work, always with some awe at moments like these. The portly woman was much like Perry, rounder however (for Mother Proudfoot always said that Perry got her grandfather's more gangly physique, even though Perry was well rounded), her large eyes a dark blue in her older, wrinkled face. She had a commanding but soothing presence, and the labour proceeded beautifully once her cool efficient hands were on the scene.
Frodo had long since fetched his pipe, and he kept the pacing Sam Gamgee company in the sitting room. The fellow would have long bouts of silence, and then suddenly would begin to babble endlessly, long streaming sentences of panic that Frodo would nod at sagely and give the odd word of calm to. Of course, Sam didn't hear him. All he heard were the wails and the grunting of his wife in the main bedroom.
"What have I done to her, Mr. Frodo?! What have I done?! Had I known it'd do this to her I'd never have done it all!"
Frodo felt himself squirm, but he fought to smile calmly. "All mothers go through this, Sam. I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Oh but do listen to her, Mr. Frodo! She's in pain!"
"Mother Proudfoot is in there now to help her," said Frodo. "It shouldn't be long now at all."
Sam winced, pacing again, falling into another of his deep silences, puffing on his pipe like a bubbling pot of hot water shooting steam. For hours this went on, seeming like days, and Frodo felt like he was going a little crazy. Rosie's yelling had stopped, but there was still much panting and huffing. Mother Proudfoot's stern, firm voice was heard over this, such care and comfort in those tones, and Perry's higher, more eager voice piped in on occasion. Suddenly, the voices rose up together, and an almighty cry almost shook the rafters.
"Rosie!" wailed Sam, racing towards the bedroom. Just as he reached the door to his room, it opened, Perry popping her head out with an excited but weary smile.
"Oh Sam!" she gasped. "She's beautiful! She's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen!"
Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and he stumbled his way into the room, doe-like brown eyes seeking his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, planting kisses on her sweaty skin, smoothing her hair and holding his hand above the little pink wrinkled form bundled in Rosie's arms. It shook, and he covered his mouth.
"Oh… oh. She's prettier than an elf! Oh look at her!"
"She's got your darling lips, Sam," Rosie said, smiling wearily. "She's perfect."
And indeed she was a darling child. Mother Proudfoot herself said she'd rare seen such a bonny lass, small and fragile looking, though strong and healthy. Frodo, Perry and her mother left Sam and Rosie to their devices for the moment, Mother Proudfoot staying in the spare room of the Gaffer's house that night to make sure the baby was well, and Frodo and Perry going back to Bag Hall.
Both Frodo and Perry tumbled into their beds, awfully tired from the ordeal, too sleepy to even eat any dinner. The next morning Frodo awoke to a nicely laid out breakfast at the table, and a note from Perry (put very clearly in the centre of the table this time) telling him she would be at the Gaffer's house, visiting Rosie and the baby. He ate well, for he was terribly hungry after missing a meal (a rarity for a well settled hobbit), and he sat for a while to let it digest.
There was a knock at his door, and upon answering it he saw it was Sam Gamgee. He came in, humming and hawing and mentioning this and that, till he came to the matter at hand. "Well, Mr. Frodo," he said, "I'm in a bit of a fix. Rose and me had settled to call him Frodo, with your leave; but it's not a him, it's a her. Though as pretty a maidchild as any one could hope for, taking after Rose more than me, luckily. So we don't know what to do."
"Well, Sam," said Frodo, "what's wrong with old customs? Choose a flower name like Rose. Half the maidchildren in the Shire are called by such names, and what could be better?"
"I suppose you're right, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I've heard some beautiful names on my travels, but I suppose they're a bit too grand for daily wear and tear, as you might say. The Gaffer says: 'Make it short, and then you won't have to cut it short so you can use it.' But if it's to be flower-name, then I don't trouble at the length: it must be a beautiful flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be beautifuller still."
Frodo felt himself smiling at the pride Sam so obviously showed, and he crossed his arms in thought. "Well, Sam, what about elanor, the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass at Lothlorien?"
"You're right again, Mr. Frodo!" said Sam delighted. "That's what I wanted!"
Sam invited Frodo over to have a look at the baby (again) and to be there when he told Rosie the name Frodo had provided. They walked into the comfortable and snug hobbit-hole, the Gaffer, Mother Proudfoot and Periwinkle all gathered around Rose at the hearth. Rose looked up to her husband and smiled.
"Hello, my love. Did Mr. Frodo help you?"
"Indeed he did," said Sam, slapping Frodo on the shoulder. "What do you think of the name 'Elanor'?"
Rosie smiled warmly. "Ohhh, Sam! It's just right!" She looked down to the baby, rocking her to and fro. "Elanor. Elanor."
The baby looked up at her mother's face, the faintest of smiles curling her lips.
"Seems she likes it," said Perry.
"Indeed," said Mother Proudfoot. "That's a baby that's chosen her name, I reckon." She put her hands on her hips and looked about. "Now, if I don't get back home old Father will have a fit. So, my dear girl…" She looked to Perry and kissed the top of her head. "You look after yourself, and I'll see you on the weekend, shall I?"
"Yes Ma," Perry said, hugging her mother.
Mother Proudfoot waddled past Frodo and tapped him on the nose. "You look after my girl, now. No overworkin' her!" Perry blushed, and Frodo did the same.
"Yes, er, no, er - of course not," he stuttered.
Mother Proudfoot eyed him sternly before looking to the Gaffer, who made his ambling way out to take Mother Proudfoot home. As they left, Sam couldn't help but chuckle, Rosie in a similar state.
"She sure told you, Mr. Frodo," giggled Rosie. She looked in pain suddenly, and she stood quickly. "Er - I must go relieve myself. Here Perry - hold the lass will ye?"
"My pleasure!" said Perry, taking the child into her arms with an enchanted smile.
Sam tapped a lip and nodded. "Yes, well, I must go feed Bill. I forgot to yesterday. Don't mind me - make yourselves comfortable!" He patted Frodo on the shoulder, and Frodo turned to see him disappear out the front door. Frodo frowned a touch, and he turned back to look at Perry and greet her good morning. His voice died in his throat. He swallowed slowly, his frown deepening, but not in upset but rather in muddlement, as his mind felt dizzy and lost.
Perry stood in the centre of the sitting room, and behind her daylight streamed in the window, lighting her lovely dark hair around the edges. She smiled sweetly at the baby in her arms, singing softly to the child, swinging to and fro. He had seen Perry covered with flowers, he'd seen her in her best gown. She was in her work clothes now, a rather plain dress, and her hair was neat for it was early in the day, though never had he seen her look as very beautiful as she did at that moment. She looked at peace, so very lovely with her smile. His heart fell slowly, and some part of his soul wanted this more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. Perry, with a little one in her arms, at home and settled. He could feel tears burn his eyes and he fumbled with his pockets, trying to calm himself down. His mind raced wildly, and fear bombarded him.
She should have her own, he thought. She should be in a warm little hole right now with her own baby, her own family. He thought of all the time she spent taking care of him and of his resolve to be alone always. The wealth of pain and hurt that he'd amassed over time swelled in his chest, and looking to her he felt she deserved more. He pressed his lips together sadly, and made a final decision.
When he went to see Bilbo on his birthday next, he would not come back.
~~*~~
Author: nacey
Email: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au
Category: Drama, Romance, AU
Rating: PG
Spoilers: All six books.
Summary: The story of Frodo's life after the journey of the Ring.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JRR Tolkien, and Tolkien Enterprises. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: This story is not edited. The final version may differ greatly from the one you are reading right now. I'm putting this up because people will never get to read it if I wait till it's finished, as I've got a lot of non-fandom projects going on that I'm putting most of my energies into. Anyway, back to the story... I very much thought that Lord of the Rings didn't need fan-fiction when I was reading it, until I read the ending. Then I saw the movies and it inspired me to write this little "Alternate-Universe" fic. I think that the ending that Tolkien did was absolutely perfect, and this is just my attempt at a different idea of what it could be like, mainly borne of my experience being amongst and being a person living with depression (I believe that poor Frodo had one of the most chronic cases of Post-Traumatic Stress that ever was). Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms. As is anyone that would like to help me beta this bloody leviathan of a fic.
Website: http://www.nancylorenz.com/lothlorien/
~~*~~
Chapter Six - An Unexpected Arrival
The following morning was warmer than the last, though Frodo wasn't sure whether it was the actual weather, the extra blanket, or the warm thing he was lying against. He fancied Ferdinand had snuck his way in through an open window in Perry's room, and perhaps was sleeping on top of him. Half asleep, he reached to stroke the cat, finding in his hand instead dark thick, luxuriously soft but altogether hobbitish curls. He opened an eye, shifting a little, not wanting to disturb his perfect sleep unless it was entirely necessary. Looking to his hand he saw that there was very definitely a hobbit in his bed. On top of him, in fact, the blankets sandwiched in between them, a rough knitted one pulled over the shoulders of the other. He knew that dark hair anywhere, and he felt a flutter in his chest at the though of his hand being sunk into those curls he'd appreciated so many times… they were so very soft. He didn't remember much from yesterday, only pain, such pain. And eyes… brown eyes. The sweetest brown eyes he could ever remember gazing into. He tried to shift a little, but the stirring caused the girl on top of him to groan a little in her sleep. She shifted herself, wrapping an arm around him protectively and squeezing him tightly. He felt a blush rage in his cheeks, as this was very much improper. He loathed to do it, but he put his hand to her shoulder (that he discovered to be achingly smooth), and shook her lightly.
"Miss Perry… Miss Perry."
She started awake, a gasp lifting from her. "Oh! What time is it?" She didn't seem entirely awake, and Frodo smiled with some affection.
"I'm not quite sure. Erm…" He looked about himself. "May I ask what you are doing on my bed? And is that cold soup on the table?"
"Ohhh," She sat up, blushing terribly, shaking like a leaf. "Oh don't get angry, Mr. Baggins, please don't. I was just looking after you, Sir, like I promised I would. I brought you the soup, and the water, and you fell asleep in my lap, Sir. I got comfortable on the wall and I must have nodded off. I beg you to forgive me, please!" She had gotten herself into quite a state at this point, and Frodo just took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"I thank you, Perry," he said. "I don't remember much from yesterday, but I do remember you being there." He frowned. "And Sam."
Miss Perry smiled. "Oh, I think he's always tryin' to be there Sir, when you're in a fix, that is."
"Yes, I think so too." He stretched a little, Perry creeping back out of his way and off the bed.
"I'll go clean up these things, and if you're hungry I'll make you breakfast."
Frodo massaged his scarred shoulder and pressed his lips together, brows knitting with the thoughtful smile that made his way on his face. "I think I shall help you today."
Perry stopped, turning to look over her shoulder very slowly. "Sir?"
"I put you through much yesterday, Perry. I wish to thank you properly."
"Oh you don't have to, Mr. Frodo," she said, shaking her head. "Oh no, I was just doing what you brought me here to do."
"You did more than I ever expected of you," he said, eyeing her firmly and yet warmly. "I very much needed someone to be there, and you didn't leave my side. That means more to me than you could imagine."
That morning they made pancakes together and Frodo treated Perry as kindly as he ever had, sitting her at the table like a right lady-hobbit. He even dug into some of Bilbo's old wine that had been stashed away in his Brandybuck hole but had since been returned, even if it was far too early in the day for that sort of thing. He wouldn't allow her to do any of her work that day. No cleaning, no washing up. He told her to get into her fairest summer dress, and he borrowed Sam's small cart and Bill the Pony (for Strider the Pony hated being strung to the cart, for some strange reason, but loved being ridden).
"Where are we going, Mr. Baggins?"
"There's a little place down the Bywater that I know of," he said. "I wish to take you there and have a picnic."
"Please, Mr. Frodo," she said softly. "What I did - it was nothing. It's not worth all of this."
"Your service to me has been impeccable," said Frodo. "You have long since deserved this day, Miss Perry."
Perry couldn't ever remember having such a time. She was reminded of Frodo's modest wealth and fine upbringing as they ate and talked together on the banks of the Water. The place Frodo had taken her to was a small grove, willows on either side of the small clearing that hugged the river, long lush grass cradling them, deep blue sky above and gentle forest all about them. They could feel the forest living all about them, curious eyes watching them, birds flittering and hanging about in the trees in hopes of scavenging crumbs. Frodo told Perry stories of his journey, even though she had heard much of it before. Then he told her about Weathertop, and about the Black Riders, and the wound he had taken. She had not heard those before, not from Frodo. For a moment, things were very sombre.
Then Frodo smiled, and asked to hear a story from Perry.
"I only know about farms and hobbit things," she said to him.
"When I was far from home, I dreamt of farms and hobbit things," he said. "Of smiling folk and good food. Music, laughter. I love these things, Perry, so dearly, that I went on these journeys to protect them. When you sing of these things, and tell stories of these things, it makes me love my home even more." He nodded. "I feel happy, because you are here to tell me of them, and you are not in danger anymore."
Perry's eyes became dewy, and her heart sighed deep in her chest. "All right, Mr. Frodo."
She decided to tell him of her past, of her childhood and her games. She then told him of darker times, of the ruling of Proudfoot Farm by the tall Men and the frightened Shirriffs. Frodo's eyes grew sad as she told him these tales, not just for the ruining of the Shire, but the terrible hardships Perry was put through. He grew to understand why she was so grateful to him and what he did for the Shire, though he knew after their time together it was probably more to her loyalty than simple graciousness.
Frodo and Perry lived on as they had done in the hobbit hole at the Hill, the seasons passing into one another in their never-ending graceful dance. Frodo fell ill again early in March, and by talking to Sam, Perry learnt that it was due to the bite of Shelob, and it had come to haunt Frodo once again. Like the first time he had taken ill, Perry stayed by his side, keeping him warm and secure. Frodo was fine the day afterwards, as before with the sickness of his old scar, and again was very thankful to Perry for her vigilance and care. It was barely a week after this that a panting and panic-stricken Sam Gamgee pounded the door of Bag Hall; his cheeks a deep red and sweat on his brow.
"Oh help me! Come right away Miss Perry!" he cried as Frodo opened the door, Perry close behind, wiping her hands on a tea-towel.
Frodo frowned. "Sam, whatever is wrong?"
"It's Rosie, Mr. Frodo! She's havin' her baby!"
Perry gasped, dropping the tea-towel and racing out the door with an excited squeal. Frodo looked to Sam, sighing with a smile and patting him on the shoulder. "Come on then, let's help out. Have you sent for a midwife?"
"Old Mother Proudfoot is on her way," said Sam, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Perry should be fine help till she arrives."
Perry was already in the Gaffer's place down New Row, running into the room where she could hear Rosie huff and puff. When Frodo arrived Sam was off to find Mother Proudfoot, and he was left to run and fetch things for Perry. It was quite a strange experience for him, being on wait to the girl that had waited on him all this time. It surprised him that she knew exactly what she was doing, but he remembered then that her mother was the best midwife in all of Hobbiton, having twelve of her own youngin's and helping with countless others. In his many trips to the room, the last thing he expected was for Perry to stick her head around the door and ask for two warm cups of tea. He fetched them, and upon entering Rosie's room, was most surprised to see her sitting up in bed and smiling wearily.
"Rosie!" he exclaimed. "Has the baby come?"
Rosie laughed, jocularity glowing faintly on her stressed but still beautiful face. "Oh goodness no, Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo blushed. "Then, was it a false alarm?"
"Not at all," said Perry, "It's just a lull in the contractions." Frodo only looked confused. "The body rests, you see, between pushin' out the baby."
"Oh…" Frodo looked thoughtful. "How long does having a baby usually take?"
"Hours, Mr. Frodo," said Perry earnestly.
"Sometimes days," added Rosie, taking a long sip of her tea as if to brace herself.
Frodo's cheeks grew pale. He could very well be waiting for the baby to be born for… well he dreaded to think. His stomach churned in worry for Rosie, and what she was about to go through. He hadn't witnessed any births in all of his life, and the details of them were never something he took much interest in, nor were they all that readily available to the gentlehobbits without some embarrassing discussions with the ladies. Still, he felt reassured somehow that Perry was there for Rosie until her mother arrived. He vaguely remembered what a wonderful nurse she had made when he had been ill those days ago.
Rosie's relaxed face shifted, and she put the teacup down, knuckles white, her back growing rigid and straight. "Ohhh, Ohh! Another one Perry! Oh bless me it's strong!"
Perry took a hold of Rosie's hands and looked her dead in the eyes. "Relax, now, Rosie… remember what I told you. Deep breathin' now… think about the breathin'. Just the breathin'."
Rosie clenched her eyes closed, gripping Perry's hands tightly and clenching her teeth. "Oh but it does hurt!" she cried.
Frodo's skin crawled strangely, and bolting upright he ran from the room. "I'll get more hot water!"
Perry shook her head with a fond smile. "We don't need no bloody hot water." She knew Frodo would have made any excuse he could possibly think of to leave the room at that time. Gentlehobbits weren't normally present at birthing, let alone the birthing of their best friend's wives.
Frodo made his way to the sitting room, wringing his fingers, trying not to ponder on the noises coming from the Gamgee's bedroom. The thought of Rosie in all that pain had him in quite a state. He paced to and fro in front of the hearth, stomach fluttering in his chest, anxiousness eating him alive then and there. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fumbling for his weed and pipe, sadly coming up empty. He remembered then that he'd left them at Bag Hall in the rush. He sighed to himself, and slowly, he sat down on Sam Gamgee's footstool, running his fingers through his hair. So wrought was he, that he almost jumped a foot in the air when his gardener came bursting into the door.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo there you are!" he exclaimed. "Mother Proudfoot is nearly here! Oh my, I hope you forgive me, Sir, I hope you do because I borrowed your pony, he's so much faster than Bill, and I'd sent my old Gaffer out after her but he's been takin' forever so I got on your pony and I raced to Hobbiton myself, Sir, I overtook him and then I found Mrs. Proudfoot at the market buying tomatoes an' I told her and she's on a cart cause she said to me, 'Now you listen to me, Samwise Gamgee, I'm right too old to be ridin' on saddles on the backs of ponies now, you take me there on a cart and we'll be seeing the missus then!' and then I put her on the cart with the Gaffer and I rode back here." Sam gasped, gulping in huge breaths after the longest Frodo had possibly ever heard him ramble. "And… Mother Proudfoot is down the road, Sir. She's nearly here."
Frodo smiled, worry plain in his eyes. "It's all right, Sam."
"Oh where's me pipe!" sighed Sam.
Frodo looked about himself as Sam dug about for his weed and pipe. "I'm not sure. I was just about to have a pipe myself, but I've left both my weed and my pipe at home."
Sam nodded. "Well come on then, Mr. Frodo, we'll go fetch it. It'll be good to walk along the road and see if Mother Proudfoot is here yet."
At this time Rosie had breathed her way through the contractions she had started when Frodo had been in the room. She took a rest, sighing, the pain ever-present and growing steadily worse. Sweat began to make itself at home on her blushing brow, and her thoughts began to drift. She frowned, gulping, reaching for water.
"Water," she muttered, and Perry handed it to her. "Talk to me. Please."
Perry smiled soothingly, running her hand over Rosie's hair. "Mother Proudfoot will be here real soon, Rosie. She'll help the baby along nicely."
"No, about you, about how things are at Bag Hall." She pulled her light blue eyes to Perry's then. "I want to know, I worry about you sometimes."
Perry gave a smiling frown. "Me?"
Rosie nodded slowly. "You love him so much, dear. Sometimes I think it's all not very fair on you."
Perry felt a blush rage in her cheeks, and she shrugged. "I wouldn't be by anybody else's side, Rosie. You know that."
"What do you do," asked Rosie, a dent of curiosity in her brow. "With all that time alone, what do you do?"
The questions Rosie was asking were very personal, but Perry understood that under normal circumstances she never would have asked them. Well, she may have, but she would have used much more tact and guile as per her regular fashion.
"Erm… well. I make him his dinner-"
"I know that, I know that," Rosie said, waving a hand. "What then?"
Embarrassment was burning Perry to the core. She sighed. "Erm… We talk."
"About?"
"Our lives, I suppose, silly things. Stories, old times. He tells me about beautiful things, like Elves and Rivendell and the land of Tom Bombadil. And I tell him of the Shire, and of little things. He loves the little things, like having problems milking cows or struggling with the turnips." Perry was thoroughly immersed in her train of thought now. "And sometimes we share songs. He sings songs he learnt in the land of the Riders, and in Gondor. He sings songs he wrote, too. Beautiful things, they are. My favourite songs are the Elf songs." Perry nodded. "But the strangest thing is he loves it when I sing my songs. I think nothing of them, but he thinks they're very precious."
Rosie smiled faintly. "That sounds lovely. I think Frodo would hate to be without you." Perry began to shrug, but Rosie grabbed her shoulder, shaking her head. "No, I can see it, Perry. I see it very clearly. I just - I wonder if he realises that he cannot have you forever like this… neither with him or away from him. Your parents will not wait," Rosie paused in pain. "They will not wait for you to choose a husband forever. And what will you do then? What will Frodo do?"
Perry closed her eyes, frowning, tears forming in her eyes. "I don't know."
"I'm sorry," said Rosie, coming into herself a moment, taking her hand away from Perry. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk of such things, not now. Oh… I don't feel very good."
Absently wiping a tear away, Perry nodded. "You won't. You have a baby trying to worm its way out of your womb."
"You're not helping."
Perry smiled, even though there was still a little sadness in her eyes. "Sorry."
At that moment, Mother Proudfoot swept her way into the room; ready to work her magic, for a good midwife was like magic on the heightened anxiety of an expectant mother. It wasn't just the hot towels and the water and the tea. It was calming the mother, bringing her out of her panic and helping her concentrate on relaxing and pushing at the exact moment. Perry watched her mother work, always with some awe at moments like these. The portly woman was much like Perry, rounder however (for Mother Proudfoot always said that Perry got her grandfather's more gangly physique, even though Perry was well rounded), her large eyes a dark blue in her older, wrinkled face. She had a commanding but soothing presence, and the labour proceeded beautifully once her cool efficient hands were on the scene.
Frodo had long since fetched his pipe, and he kept the pacing Sam Gamgee company in the sitting room. The fellow would have long bouts of silence, and then suddenly would begin to babble endlessly, long streaming sentences of panic that Frodo would nod at sagely and give the odd word of calm to. Of course, Sam didn't hear him. All he heard were the wails and the grunting of his wife in the main bedroom.
"What have I done to her, Mr. Frodo?! What have I done?! Had I known it'd do this to her I'd never have done it all!"
Frodo felt himself squirm, but he fought to smile calmly. "All mothers go through this, Sam. I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Oh but do listen to her, Mr. Frodo! She's in pain!"
"Mother Proudfoot is in there now to help her," said Frodo. "It shouldn't be long now at all."
Sam winced, pacing again, falling into another of his deep silences, puffing on his pipe like a bubbling pot of hot water shooting steam. For hours this went on, seeming like days, and Frodo felt like he was going a little crazy. Rosie's yelling had stopped, but there was still much panting and huffing. Mother Proudfoot's stern, firm voice was heard over this, such care and comfort in those tones, and Perry's higher, more eager voice piped in on occasion. Suddenly, the voices rose up together, and an almighty cry almost shook the rafters.
"Rosie!" wailed Sam, racing towards the bedroom. Just as he reached the door to his room, it opened, Perry popping her head out with an excited but weary smile.
"Oh Sam!" she gasped. "She's beautiful! She's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen!"
Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and he stumbled his way into the room, doe-like brown eyes seeking his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, planting kisses on her sweaty skin, smoothing her hair and holding his hand above the little pink wrinkled form bundled in Rosie's arms. It shook, and he covered his mouth.
"Oh… oh. She's prettier than an elf! Oh look at her!"
"She's got your darling lips, Sam," Rosie said, smiling wearily. "She's perfect."
And indeed she was a darling child. Mother Proudfoot herself said she'd rare seen such a bonny lass, small and fragile looking, though strong and healthy. Frodo, Perry and her mother left Sam and Rosie to their devices for the moment, Mother Proudfoot staying in the spare room of the Gaffer's house that night to make sure the baby was well, and Frodo and Perry going back to Bag Hall.
Both Frodo and Perry tumbled into their beds, awfully tired from the ordeal, too sleepy to even eat any dinner. The next morning Frodo awoke to a nicely laid out breakfast at the table, and a note from Perry (put very clearly in the centre of the table this time) telling him she would be at the Gaffer's house, visiting Rosie and the baby. He ate well, for he was terribly hungry after missing a meal (a rarity for a well settled hobbit), and he sat for a while to let it digest.
There was a knock at his door, and upon answering it he saw it was Sam Gamgee. He came in, humming and hawing and mentioning this and that, till he came to the matter at hand. "Well, Mr. Frodo," he said, "I'm in a bit of a fix. Rose and me had settled to call him Frodo, with your leave; but it's not a him, it's a her. Though as pretty a maidchild as any one could hope for, taking after Rose more than me, luckily. So we don't know what to do."
"Well, Sam," said Frodo, "what's wrong with old customs? Choose a flower name like Rose. Half the maidchildren in the Shire are called by such names, and what could be better?"
"I suppose you're right, Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I've heard some beautiful names on my travels, but I suppose they're a bit too grand for daily wear and tear, as you might say. The Gaffer says: 'Make it short, and then you won't have to cut it short so you can use it.' But if it's to be flower-name, then I don't trouble at the length: it must be a beautiful flower, because, you see, I think she is very beautiful, and is going to be beautifuller still."
Frodo felt himself smiling at the pride Sam so obviously showed, and he crossed his arms in thought. "Well, Sam, what about elanor, the sun-star, you remember the little golden flower in the grass at Lothlorien?"
"You're right again, Mr. Frodo!" said Sam delighted. "That's what I wanted!"
Sam invited Frodo over to have a look at the baby (again) and to be there when he told Rosie the name Frodo had provided. They walked into the comfortable and snug hobbit-hole, the Gaffer, Mother Proudfoot and Periwinkle all gathered around Rose at the hearth. Rose looked up to her husband and smiled.
"Hello, my love. Did Mr. Frodo help you?"
"Indeed he did," said Sam, slapping Frodo on the shoulder. "What do you think of the name 'Elanor'?"
Rosie smiled warmly. "Ohhh, Sam! It's just right!" She looked down to the baby, rocking her to and fro. "Elanor. Elanor."
The baby looked up at her mother's face, the faintest of smiles curling her lips.
"Seems she likes it," said Perry.
"Indeed," said Mother Proudfoot. "That's a baby that's chosen her name, I reckon." She put her hands on her hips and looked about. "Now, if I don't get back home old Father will have a fit. So, my dear girl…" She looked to Perry and kissed the top of her head. "You look after yourself, and I'll see you on the weekend, shall I?"
"Yes Ma," Perry said, hugging her mother.
Mother Proudfoot waddled past Frodo and tapped him on the nose. "You look after my girl, now. No overworkin' her!" Perry blushed, and Frodo did the same.
"Yes, er, no, er - of course not," he stuttered.
Mother Proudfoot eyed him sternly before looking to the Gaffer, who made his ambling way out to take Mother Proudfoot home. As they left, Sam couldn't help but chuckle, Rosie in a similar state.
"She sure told you, Mr. Frodo," giggled Rosie. She looked in pain suddenly, and she stood quickly. "Er - I must go relieve myself. Here Perry - hold the lass will ye?"
"My pleasure!" said Perry, taking the child into her arms with an enchanted smile.
Sam tapped a lip and nodded. "Yes, well, I must go feed Bill. I forgot to yesterday. Don't mind me - make yourselves comfortable!" He patted Frodo on the shoulder, and Frodo turned to see him disappear out the front door. Frodo frowned a touch, and he turned back to look at Perry and greet her good morning. His voice died in his throat. He swallowed slowly, his frown deepening, but not in upset but rather in muddlement, as his mind felt dizzy and lost.
Perry stood in the centre of the sitting room, and behind her daylight streamed in the window, lighting her lovely dark hair around the edges. She smiled sweetly at the baby in her arms, singing softly to the child, swinging to and fro. He had seen Perry covered with flowers, he'd seen her in her best gown. She was in her work clothes now, a rather plain dress, and her hair was neat for it was early in the day, though never had he seen her look as very beautiful as she did at that moment. She looked at peace, so very lovely with her smile. His heart fell slowly, and some part of his soul wanted this more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. Perry, with a little one in her arms, at home and settled. He could feel tears burn his eyes and he fumbled with his pockets, trying to calm himself down. His mind raced wildly, and fear bombarded him.
She should have her own, he thought. She should be in a warm little hole right now with her own baby, her own family. He thought of all the time she spent taking care of him and of his resolve to be alone always. The wealth of pain and hurt that he'd amassed over time swelled in his chest, and looking to her he felt she deserved more. He pressed his lips together sadly, and made a final decision.
When he went to see Bilbo on his birthday next, he would not come back.
~~*~~