Author's Note: All of the events in J.R.R. Tolkien's life that are
mentioned in this fic ARE true. (save that fact that he had these dreams
but who knows ::wink::)
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! For the wonderful reviews. I really appreciate them and I'm so glad you like this fic. Just to let you know there is more to come. And all reviews are greatly appreciated and taken to heart! Thank you! ~Skye~
~~~~~~~~~~~
John woke with a start. He looked about and saw he had returned to the green woods outside of the Shire. He sighed and stood dusting off the leaves and pollen that accumulated on his nightshirt. He looked around bitterly, it was seven years after his first dream and he had become oddly comfortable with this world he could so easily escape to. He met the strange man many times and they formed a peculiar bond between two sufferers of life's injustices. John never knew enough about this strange world and his friend (who seemed to be the only person to see him) proved a terrible guide. They both seemed confused and lost never quite belonging. This was the only reason John could find that they were able to converse. Otherwise John was just a ghost, an intruder in a world never quite his to truly enjoy. His friend as well did not seem to belong, he was out of place and wounded. He carried a darkness with him and a horrifying past that John regrettably could recall as if the memories were his own. They shared a misery none could ever understand but each other, so it was hardly a friendship, but they found good company with another tortured soul. He shared memories with more than just this one person and they stirred such emotions in John that he never quite understood. But now John had gotten bitter and jaded, his life taking a turn for the worst. He scowled at the trees and sunlight around him as if cursing them. He spat bitterly and kicked at a tree only succeeding in sending pain shoot through his foot. He hopped around cursing and yelling.
"Hey! Ho, there!"
John spun around and saw the source of the voice sitting silently at the base of a tree. He set down a red book he had been writing in and stood up. "You are awfully loud this morning."
"What do you want from me, Frodo!" John cried sitting down hard and crossing his arms.
"You know," Frodo said quietly. "Now stop this nonsense." He sat back down and picked up his pen again and began writing as if John was not even there.
"Nonsense!" John cried, "I don't understand any of this! I was just thrown into this without a say or anything! Why have I been dealt this burden?"
Frodo raised an eyebrow, "I can understand such feelings."
John lowered his voice, "Why must I be the one to tell your story?"
Frodo shrugged, "You suit well." He looked up, a breeze ruffled his curls. "After all how else will it be told?"
"Can the king not make copies?"
"How long do you think it shall live. Perhaps copies will be made and they will be sent to the great halls where all of the history of Middle-Earth is written. But do you not think that those will one day die with the rest of Middle-Earth?"
"How do you know this?"
"I see many things I wish I did not. I just want my tale to be told so that they may know that their lands were threatened with such a danger and that they may come to love and appreciate them all the more. Many have made great sacrifices so that they may keep this, not just I."
"You cannot possibly understand how terrible the other reality is. I cannot do this alone. Not now." John looked off in the distance recalling terrible memories.
"I do not know what happens in your waking world."
"Nor do you care!"
Frodo frowned and wrote furiously, "I ask little of you."
"You ask the world of me! I cannot even read your precious book! How do you expect me to do this?"
"You do not understand our language?"
"Hardly. It's the same but also- different. I don't know how to put it. The language- I just don't know it."
"Then you will learn."
"Learn languages? How?"
"Find a way."
The pair were silent once more. The spring was warm in the young forest. Everything grew so quickly since last year though it had been many years to John. He buried his face in his knees. He did not want this. It was such a peaceful place, so wonderful to run away to, and yet it seemed as if it mocked him. A place that would never be truly his. He wanted to stay and never return. But his brother needed him. He looked about at the young trees, they seemed to pity him and he scowled.
"What a foul mood you are in," Frodo grumbled as he wrote.
The boy pulled his knees up to his chin. "Do you know what it's like? Do you know or care at all! My father is dead! My mother is dead! And all I've got is this terrible duty you have so generously bestowed upon me!"
Frodo's face flushed, the tips of his ears turned red, and he dropped his pen. "What did you say?" Frodo squeaked.
"They're dead. And I've got to take care of my little brother." John whispered his voice cracking with emotion.
Frodo looked on in horror. No one deserved such a fate, he knew. It was terrible to bear and sometimes it would take you in a wave of grief and drive you straight into despair. The loss of parents at such a young age and to feel completely abandoned in the cold world. No one to care or protect you. Forever wondering if it was your fault, if you were not a good enough child that they should never want you and leave so. Frodo felt tears prick and burn his eyes as he thought of his own parents.
"It just so happens, John dear, that I do know."
John looked up from his previous stance of burying his face in his knees. "You had Bilbo to go to. We have nowhere. We are just hopping from one home to another. Nobody wants us, my brother and I."
There was a long pause. Both, boy and hobbit, were contemplating their next words carefully, both were deeply hurt and they had so much to share. "Do you miss Bilbo?" John finally croaked out through his tears.
"I have a feeling I'll be seeing him again in good time." Frodo sighed setting down the book. "It's almost finished. I'm giving it to Sam."
"I know," said John quietly.
The boy looked down at his feet. The hobbit staring at the boy his deep eyes filling with pain and tears. He was so young to lose them. He himself was around the same age when he lost his own parents. And oh how abandoned and lost he felt. Lost in a world so cold and cruel. But it was true. He did have Bilbo. Someone to love him and care for him. Take him in, even though most of his childhood was spent in that horrifying despair, that doubt in yourself, if you've done anything wrong to make them leave you. And Frodo had no younger siblings to take care of. John was granted this terrible burden and he must bear it alone for Frodo knew he could never visit that world as John visited his.
Frodo looked at the boy and saw him as he was. Lost and confused, envying and hating all other's happiness. Just wanting someone to hold you and whisper comfortingly in your ear, "It will be ok. It's not your fault." John had no one. A small cry welled up in Frodo's chest but he did not let it out. The boy did not seem to notice Frodo staring at him. His eyes were far away and distant and he seemed small curled up, afraid and alone. Frodo wanted more than anything to hold him and comfort him as he would his own son. But this he could not do. He had not the light in him any longer to comfort a fellow ailing soul. He himself was broken and tormented inside. John finally spoke breaking Frodo's line of thought.
"Why do you keep bringing me here? In different times? It's all so confusing."
Frodo looked up anxiously. John met his confused gaze. "I've never brought you here?"
"Then how am I getting here?"
Frodo shrugged uneasily, "I do not know. Some things are out of my hands. But the first time I saw you was that morning when Sam had first organized the planting parties," Frodo lied, "to go about and restore our beloved Shire. You looked so lost and confused I had to talk to you. No one was taking notice to you, I know how that feels. And you looked so- familiar. It's hardly been a year since then."
"Not for me," said John, "It's been many years. And sometimes I see your memories, Frodo, and Sam's too and so many others whom I cannot name. And sometimes- sometimes I see what will become of the Shire after all the Hobbits have left it. It's so terrible. Why did they leave?"
Frodo sighed, "Our age will soon come to an end. The world will ready itself for a new age. The age of men. We will all diminish in time. But that is long after Sam and his children and even his children's children. I worry not for the Shire any longer."
"You do not plan to stay?"
Frodo looked away, "I am leaving with the elves."
John resolved that he would read his red book more often. He knew so little of the one he had made such a great promise to. And he intended to keep this promise. When he looked at Frodo he saw a very peculiar creature. He was so curious and frightened by Hobbits at the same time it only confused him. But this one was indeed extraordinary. When he looked into Frodo's eyes he saw pain and anguish, he had carried a terrible burden, that John knew. It scarred him, and it bound itself to him. He will forever carry it, to the end of his days. And now he sought healing with the elves. And would Sam go as well? John already knew a good deal about Sam. John went through it in his head. Sam was a courageous, loyal fellow. He had a good heart and simple longings. He loved to garden, his heart lay in the earth so to speak. But he loved his master too, more than anything. He loved him and looked at him with great reverence that even Frodo did not seem to see. John saw that same sparkle in Sam's eyes when he looked upon his master that he saw in his little brother's eyes when he looked up at him.
John only knew a portion of what Frodo had gone through. All the agony the torment and he understood. He knew Frodo clung to life for Sam for the Shire for all the ones he loved that he knew could not bear losing him. If it wasn't for them Frodo would have let go long ago. John thought about this and as he did he thought about his brother. He couldn't stay in Middle- Earth even if it were possible. How much he loved the escape from the harsh coldness of reality his brother needed him.
John looked up. "Frodo?"
But Frodo had gone. The world was dark and desolate once more. The Hobbits were gone and the "age of men" as Frodo called it had taken over once more. John wept. He was alone again and how bleak the world felt. Was this better than reality? John stood and cried out.
"Why are you doing this to me? Taking me here and throwing me there! What do you want from me? What!"
John broke into a run. Maybe if he ran, ran as fast as he could, he could escape the power. That power that was driving him this way and that. He just wanted to be with Frodo, sitting in the woods. So Frodo was cold and he never laughed, and his eyes were dark and his words could bite. So what if he could never be a friend or a brother or a father. He was someone! Someone that understood how John felt. A fellow tormented soul and for that torment he was as he was.
John ran for what seemed like days never reaching an end nor a beginning and falling ever farther from an answer that could never be reached. He felt times changing quickly as seasons. Finally he emerged once more into the Shire where he always inevitably ended up.
"There is something that always brings me here," John whispered as he looked around.
It was no longer the age of men for the Shire was bright and blooming. But it was night. A wondrous night as if there never was one. John looked up and saw the stars bursting in the sky, twinkling and shining with pure light that danced in his eyes. He'd never seen so many stars. The moon was a silver sliver hanging in the black velvet sky studded with the sparkling gems. John's eyes shone in sheer wonderment until there was a howl whistling sound and a burst of fire. John saw stars explode before him and he let out a cry and fell to his knees.
When he regained use of his legs he stood shakily and looked about. There was music and lights coming from the field. John sprinted forward until he could hear the music so clearly. The light pipe of the lute filled the night accompanied by chattered laughing. John approached slowly. Even though he knew he could not be seen he forever felt like an intruder. There was another high shrill as something shot into the air. John gasped thinking with horror that this was the end of the merry little Hobbits that he had come to love and fear so much. They were a creature to be wondered at and though he thought them too strange and unfamiliar with his mind's reckoning to feel comfortable with, he loved them so.
But his fears were put to the rest as he saw the wizard Gandalf, as Frodo called him, light another rocket and send it into the sky. Fireworks! It was Bilbo's birthday! John let out a squeak of excitement, forgetting his troubles for once, and ran forward to get a closer glimpse at the dancing and music and fireworks. He stopped dead when he saw a sight he thought he'd never see for he thought it could never exist. There was Frodo skipping on the stage with a lass on his arm. He spun around merrily then he spun her. His face lit up with pure merriment and joy and careless rapture that John thought was as impossible as seeing a tree walk (another thing he had gotten very wrong). Frodo's curls bounced and his eyes sparkled, he kicked his heals and spun once again before gripping hands with the lass and leading her under a bridge of arms that other dancing Hobbits had organized. Bells rang high and lifted their notes to fly through the night air. The lutes piped up and somewhere a trumpet tooted. Fiddles caught John's ear and sang their song entwined in that of the lutes and bells and trumpets. For a moment John was mesmerized by the music alone.
John came back to his senses and he lost Frodo in the mass of dancers. Then his eye caught Sam sitting solemnly on his own. John's face saddened until he caught Frodo grip his friend by the shoulders, spin him around, and toss him right into the open, waiting arms of another hobbit-lass. Then came a sound John had never thought to exist. A sound he would never forget. A laugh that rang as clear as silver bells. It became a part of the music and completed it as if it were the last note needed to create sheer beauty in the music. He was so happy. John found tears trailing down his cheeks at the thought of all this. All that Frodo had and it was taken away.
It was then that John perceived that the music had died. He could hear nothing but a heavy silence that weighed on his ears. He closed his eyes, tears blurring his vision. A voice came to him, a very distraught and hushed voice. It was a shred of a whisper yet so full of concern and emotion that it shook and cracked.
"Well the lad has always a welcome up at Bag-End. BrandyHall is a hard place to grow up and now with-"
"I know Mr. Baggins he's taken it quite hard too. We can't get him to eat or play with his cousins or even talk to us. He hasn't talked since the- accident. I'm worried."
"And you should be. I'll talk to him, but it's hard for a young lad, I don't think any of us could understand what he's going through."
"He's so young."
The voices died away and John felt the world spinning around him. When he opened his eyes burning with tears he no longer saw the party field or festivities of Bilbo's birthday party. There was not music, no singing, no laughing. He heard some hushed whispers and sad murmurs but the rest was utter silence. When his eyes focussed he saw a large hall before him, grey and dark. It was lit with only candles and many Hobbits were gathered to mourn. He walked, as a ghost, slowly barely aware of his surroundings. It all seemed so familiar. He could no longer keep his tears in check. He was walking down the hall. His eyes sped across the source of the voices. Bilbo and another Hobbit shared a quiet conversation in the corner. He followed Bilbo's eyes to see they rest upon a small Hobbit-lad standing stock still as if he were carved in stone, barely noticed in the shadows. John let out a gasp, which sounded only like a slight breath of air between his teeth. This could not be. He walked over to the Hobbit-lad and sat down. There was silence, only silence and it was so quiet it hurt John's ears. Finally the young Hobbit turned his head, slowly very slowly, and rested his round, fearful, eyes shimmering their blue brilliance and overflowing with unshed tears, on this giant stranger. He almost let out a cry in disbelief and fear. It was a giant! John looked at the small Hobbit with such concern as if he was looking down at his own little brother at their parents' funeral. Such a thought raced through John's mind and sent tears pouring down his cheeks. The young Hobbit suppressed a cry at seeing the stranger's grief.
"How do you do, sir?" The young Hobbit said at last. His voice was so scratchy and small. John realized that that was the first thing the young lad had said in days.
A smile tugged at John's lips and all he wanted to do was embrace the frightened child but seeing as that would frighten him even more he just cleared his throat and croaked out, "How do you do, stranger?"
~~~
John shot bolt upright and found himself covered in a cold sweat. He looked about at the blank walls of his room and saw the small tufts of his little brother's hair peeping out of his blankets. The little boy turned in his sleep his cot squeaked lightly and John felt his own groan under his weight. This was their home, for now, who knows where they will be next. All he knew was he had to be there for his brother. His brother needed him and he had to be there.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! For the wonderful reviews. I really appreciate them and I'm so glad you like this fic. Just to let you know there is more to come. And all reviews are greatly appreciated and taken to heart! Thank you! ~Skye~
~~~~~~~~~~~
John woke with a start. He looked about and saw he had returned to the green woods outside of the Shire. He sighed and stood dusting off the leaves and pollen that accumulated on his nightshirt. He looked around bitterly, it was seven years after his first dream and he had become oddly comfortable with this world he could so easily escape to. He met the strange man many times and they formed a peculiar bond between two sufferers of life's injustices. John never knew enough about this strange world and his friend (who seemed to be the only person to see him) proved a terrible guide. They both seemed confused and lost never quite belonging. This was the only reason John could find that they were able to converse. Otherwise John was just a ghost, an intruder in a world never quite his to truly enjoy. His friend as well did not seem to belong, he was out of place and wounded. He carried a darkness with him and a horrifying past that John regrettably could recall as if the memories were his own. They shared a misery none could ever understand but each other, so it was hardly a friendship, but they found good company with another tortured soul. He shared memories with more than just this one person and they stirred such emotions in John that he never quite understood. But now John had gotten bitter and jaded, his life taking a turn for the worst. He scowled at the trees and sunlight around him as if cursing them. He spat bitterly and kicked at a tree only succeeding in sending pain shoot through his foot. He hopped around cursing and yelling.
"Hey! Ho, there!"
John spun around and saw the source of the voice sitting silently at the base of a tree. He set down a red book he had been writing in and stood up. "You are awfully loud this morning."
"What do you want from me, Frodo!" John cried sitting down hard and crossing his arms.
"You know," Frodo said quietly. "Now stop this nonsense." He sat back down and picked up his pen again and began writing as if John was not even there.
"Nonsense!" John cried, "I don't understand any of this! I was just thrown into this without a say or anything! Why have I been dealt this burden?"
Frodo raised an eyebrow, "I can understand such feelings."
John lowered his voice, "Why must I be the one to tell your story?"
Frodo shrugged, "You suit well." He looked up, a breeze ruffled his curls. "After all how else will it be told?"
"Can the king not make copies?"
"How long do you think it shall live. Perhaps copies will be made and they will be sent to the great halls where all of the history of Middle-Earth is written. But do you not think that those will one day die with the rest of Middle-Earth?"
"How do you know this?"
"I see many things I wish I did not. I just want my tale to be told so that they may know that their lands were threatened with such a danger and that they may come to love and appreciate them all the more. Many have made great sacrifices so that they may keep this, not just I."
"You cannot possibly understand how terrible the other reality is. I cannot do this alone. Not now." John looked off in the distance recalling terrible memories.
"I do not know what happens in your waking world."
"Nor do you care!"
Frodo frowned and wrote furiously, "I ask little of you."
"You ask the world of me! I cannot even read your precious book! How do you expect me to do this?"
"You do not understand our language?"
"Hardly. It's the same but also- different. I don't know how to put it. The language- I just don't know it."
"Then you will learn."
"Learn languages? How?"
"Find a way."
The pair were silent once more. The spring was warm in the young forest. Everything grew so quickly since last year though it had been many years to John. He buried his face in his knees. He did not want this. It was such a peaceful place, so wonderful to run away to, and yet it seemed as if it mocked him. A place that would never be truly his. He wanted to stay and never return. But his brother needed him. He looked about at the young trees, they seemed to pity him and he scowled.
"What a foul mood you are in," Frodo grumbled as he wrote.
The boy pulled his knees up to his chin. "Do you know what it's like? Do you know or care at all! My father is dead! My mother is dead! And all I've got is this terrible duty you have so generously bestowed upon me!"
Frodo's face flushed, the tips of his ears turned red, and he dropped his pen. "What did you say?" Frodo squeaked.
"They're dead. And I've got to take care of my little brother." John whispered his voice cracking with emotion.
Frodo looked on in horror. No one deserved such a fate, he knew. It was terrible to bear and sometimes it would take you in a wave of grief and drive you straight into despair. The loss of parents at such a young age and to feel completely abandoned in the cold world. No one to care or protect you. Forever wondering if it was your fault, if you were not a good enough child that they should never want you and leave so. Frodo felt tears prick and burn his eyes as he thought of his own parents.
"It just so happens, John dear, that I do know."
John looked up from his previous stance of burying his face in his knees. "You had Bilbo to go to. We have nowhere. We are just hopping from one home to another. Nobody wants us, my brother and I."
There was a long pause. Both, boy and hobbit, were contemplating their next words carefully, both were deeply hurt and they had so much to share. "Do you miss Bilbo?" John finally croaked out through his tears.
"I have a feeling I'll be seeing him again in good time." Frodo sighed setting down the book. "It's almost finished. I'm giving it to Sam."
"I know," said John quietly.
The boy looked down at his feet. The hobbit staring at the boy his deep eyes filling with pain and tears. He was so young to lose them. He himself was around the same age when he lost his own parents. And oh how abandoned and lost he felt. Lost in a world so cold and cruel. But it was true. He did have Bilbo. Someone to love him and care for him. Take him in, even though most of his childhood was spent in that horrifying despair, that doubt in yourself, if you've done anything wrong to make them leave you. And Frodo had no younger siblings to take care of. John was granted this terrible burden and he must bear it alone for Frodo knew he could never visit that world as John visited his.
Frodo looked at the boy and saw him as he was. Lost and confused, envying and hating all other's happiness. Just wanting someone to hold you and whisper comfortingly in your ear, "It will be ok. It's not your fault." John had no one. A small cry welled up in Frodo's chest but he did not let it out. The boy did not seem to notice Frodo staring at him. His eyes were far away and distant and he seemed small curled up, afraid and alone. Frodo wanted more than anything to hold him and comfort him as he would his own son. But this he could not do. He had not the light in him any longer to comfort a fellow ailing soul. He himself was broken and tormented inside. John finally spoke breaking Frodo's line of thought.
"Why do you keep bringing me here? In different times? It's all so confusing."
Frodo looked up anxiously. John met his confused gaze. "I've never brought you here?"
"Then how am I getting here?"
Frodo shrugged uneasily, "I do not know. Some things are out of my hands. But the first time I saw you was that morning when Sam had first organized the planting parties," Frodo lied, "to go about and restore our beloved Shire. You looked so lost and confused I had to talk to you. No one was taking notice to you, I know how that feels. And you looked so- familiar. It's hardly been a year since then."
"Not for me," said John, "It's been many years. And sometimes I see your memories, Frodo, and Sam's too and so many others whom I cannot name. And sometimes- sometimes I see what will become of the Shire after all the Hobbits have left it. It's so terrible. Why did they leave?"
Frodo sighed, "Our age will soon come to an end. The world will ready itself for a new age. The age of men. We will all diminish in time. But that is long after Sam and his children and even his children's children. I worry not for the Shire any longer."
"You do not plan to stay?"
Frodo looked away, "I am leaving with the elves."
John resolved that he would read his red book more often. He knew so little of the one he had made such a great promise to. And he intended to keep this promise. When he looked at Frodo he saw a very peculiar creature. He was so curious and frightened by Hobbits at the same time it only confused him. But this one was indeed extraordinary. When he looked into Frodo's eyes he saw pain and anguish, he had carried a terrible burden, that John knew. It scarred him, and it bound itself to him. He will forever carry it, to the end of his days. And now he sought healing with the elves. And would Sam go as well? John already knew a good deal about Sam. John went through it in his head. Sam was a courageous, loyal fellow. He had a good heart and simple longings. He loved to garden, his heart lay in the earth so to speak. But he loved his master too, more than anything. He loved him and looked at him with great reverence that even Frodo did not seem to see. John saw that same sparkle in Sam's eyes when he looked upon his master that he saw in his little brother's eyes when he looked up at him.
John only knew a portion of what Frodo had gone through. All the agony the torment and he understood. He knew Frodo clung to life for Sam for the Shire for all the ones he loved that he knew could not bear losing him. If it wasn't for them Frodo would have let go long ago. John thought about this and as he did he thought about his brother. He couldn't stay in Middle- Earth even if it were possible. How much he loved the escape from the harsh coldness of reality his brother needed him.
John looked up. "Frodo?"
But Frodo had gone. The world was dark and desolate once more. The Hobbits were gone and the "age of men" as Frodo called it had taken over once more. John wept. He was alone again and how bleak the world felt. Was this better than reality? John stood and cried out.
"Why are you doing this to me? Taking me here and throwing me there! What do you want from me? What!"
John broke into a run. Maybe if he ran, ran as fast as he could, he could escape the power. That power that was driving him this way and that. He just wanted to be with Frodo, sitting in the woods. So Frodo was cold and he never laughed, and his eyes were dark and his words could bite. So what if he could never be a friend or a brother or a father. He was someone! Someone that understood how John felt. A fellow tormented soul and for that torment he was as he was.
John ran for what seemed like days never reaching an end nor a beginning and falling ever farther from an answer that could never be reached. He felt times changing quickly as seasons. Finally he emerged once more into the Shire where he always inevitably ended up.
"There is something that always brings me here," John whispered as he looked around.
It was no longer the age of men for the Shire was bright and blooming. But it was night. A wondrous night as if there never was one. John looked up and saw the stars bursting in the sky, twinkling and shining with pure light that danced in his eyes. He'd never seen so many stars. The moon was a silver sliver hanging in the black velvet sky studded with the sparkling gems. John's eyes shone in sheer wonderment until there was a howl whistling sound and a burst of fire. John saw stars explode before him and he let out a cry and fell to his knees.
When he regained use of his legs he stood shakily and looked about. There was music and lights coming from the field. John sprinted forward until he could hear the music so clearly. The light pipe of the lute filled the night accompanied by chattered laughing. John approached slowly. Even though he knew he could not be seen he forever felt like an intruder. There was another high shrill as something shot into the air. John gasped thinking with horror that this was the end of the merry little Hobbits that he had come to love and fear so much. They were a creature to be wondered at and though he thought them too strange and unfamiliar with his mind's reckoning to feel comfortable with, he loved them so.
But his fears were put to the rest as he saw the wizard Gandalf, as Frodo called him, light another rocket and send it into the sky. Fireworks! It was Bilbo's birthday! John let out a squeak of excitement, forgetting his troubles for once, and ran forward to get a closer glimpse at the dancing and music and fireworks. He stopped dead when he saw a sight he thought he'd never see for he thought it could never exist. There was Frodo skipping on the stage with a lass on his arm. He spun around merrily then he spun her. His face lit up with pure merriment and joy and careless rapture that John thought was as impossible as seeing a tree walk (another thing he had gotten very wrong). Frodo's curls bounced and his eyes sparkled, he kicked his heals and spun once again before gripping hands with the lass and leading her under a bridge of arms that other dancing Hobbits had organized. Bells rang high and lifted their notes to fly through the night air. The lutes piped up and somewhere a trumpet tooted. Fiddles caught John's ear and sang their song entwined in that of the lutes and bells and trumpets. For a moment John was mesmerized by the music alone.
John came back to his senses and he lost Frodo in the mass of dancers. Then his eye caught Sam sitting solemnly on his own. John's face saddened until he caught Frodo grip his friend by the shoulders, spin him around, and toss him right into the open, waiting arms of another hobbit-lass. Then came a sound John had never thought to exist. A sound he would never forget. A laugh that rang as clear as silver bells. It became a part of the music and completed it as if it were the last note needed to create sheer beauty in the music. He was so happy. John found tears trailing down his cheeks at the thought of all this. All that Frodo had and it was taken away.
It was then that John perceived that the music had died. He could hear nothing but a heavy silence that weighed on his ears. He closed his eyes, tears blurring his vision. A voice came to him, a very distraught and hushed voice. It was a shred of a whisper yet so full of concern and emotion that it shook and cracked.
"Well the lad has always a welcome up at Bag-End. BrandyHall is a hard place to grow up and now with-"
"I know Mr. Baggins he's taken it quite hard too. We can't get him to eat or play with his cousins or even talk to us. He hasn't talked since the- accident. I'm worried."
"And you should be. I'll talk to him, but it's hard for a young lad, I don't think any of us could understand what he's going through."
"He's so young."
The voices died away and John felt the world spinning around him. When he opened his eyes burning with tears he no longer saw the party field or festivities of Bilbo's birthday party. There was not music, no singing, no laughing. He heard some hushed whispers and sad murmurs but the rest was utter silence. When his eyes focussed he saw a large hall before him, grey and dark. It was lit with only candles and many Hobbits were gathered to mourn. He walked, as a ghost, slowly barely aware of his surroundings. It all seemed so familiar. He could no longer keep his tears in check. He was walking down the hall. His eyes sped across the source of the voices. Bilbo and another Hobbit shared a quiet conversation in the corner. He followed Bilbo's eyes to see they rest upon a small Hobbit-lad standing stock still as if he were carved in stone, barely noticed in the shadows. John let out a gasp, which sounded only like a slight breath of air between his teeth. This could not be. He walked over to the Hobbit-lad and sat down. There was silence, only silence and it was so quiet it hurt John's ears. Finally the young Hobbit turned his head, slowly very slowly, and rested his round, fearful, eyes shimmering their blue brilliance and overflowing with unshed tears, on this giant stranger. He almost let out a cry in disbelief and fear. It was a giant! John looked at the small Hobbit with such concern as if he was looking down at his own little brother at their parents' funeral. Such a thought raced through John's mind and sent tears pouring down his cheeks. The young Hobbit suppressed a cry at seeing the stranger's grief.
"How do you do, sir?" The young Hobbit said at last. His voice was so scratchy and small. John realized that that was the first thing the young lad had said in days.
A smile tugged at John's lips and all he wanted to do was embrace the frightened child but seeing as that would frighten him even more he just cleared his throat and croaked out, "How do you do, stranger?"
~~~
John shot bolt upright and found himself covered in a cold sweat. He looked about at the blank walls of his room and saw the small tufts of his little brother's hair peeping out of his blankets. The little boy turned in his sleep his cot squeaked lightly and John felt his own groan under his weight. This was their home, for now, who knows where they will be next. All he knew was he had to be there for his brother. His brother needed him and he had to be there.