Disclaimer: I do not own Middle Earth, nor any of the characters or places mentioned in the works of J.R.R. Tolkien in his incredible stories. I am not making any money off of these stories, they are written purely for pleasure, and the intellectual idea of alternate endings. I promise to bring the "boys" home in time for supper, none the worse for wear after our little adventures.
He watches them, those he calls his family. He sits and quietly takes in their lives, always wondering at the normalcy of it all. It amazes him in a way…that the world as he and all those who lived in it knew, could have been destroyed by one small, gold, Ring. That small, silly trinket, to cause so much fear and loathing, hate and sadness and soul-crushing despair. But it had not been, it was not now. For now, there were two young hobbit lasses, and a pretty hobbit mistress. Good mornings and goodnights, sunrise, sunset. All to be captured by his simply watching.
Sometimes he participated, but for the most part he was content to watch, to remember, to etch into his memory forever the sights and sounds of his life. His happily ever after.
A sunny spring afternoon, Meli hanging the laundry; the quick snap of wet linen as it was put on the line in the bright sunshine. Prim, then only a very small lass, was blowing bubbles, a mixture of soapy water and sugar syrup Pippin had perfected a very long time before, just right for making soapy bubbles if blown through a hollow spool. Primula had only just realized how to successfully blow the coveted and beautiful bubbles, and was fascinated by them. She ran hither and yon, yipping and giggling to herself as she did so, first trying to catch her rainbow colored creations, then attempting to see how far she could get them to fly before they burst; a gentle spatter of soapy water falling upon her upturned face below. Meli smiled indulgently at the child as she ran and played, wondering not for the first time how her life had ever been complete before these small joys. And in the back garden, an unseen but always watchful presence smiled his own silly smile, pondering at the same question.
A winter's evening, a very young Dilly just come from a bath, her baby-fine curls hanging fluffy and damp from the steam. Meli was busily putting Prim to bed, and Frodo had been told to watch the baby for a few minutes. And so he found himself seated in his chair next to the fire in the parlor, legs crossed at the ankles, comfortably ensconced with his tiny daughter. She blinked up at him sleepily, wide brown eyes swimming ever so slightly as she fought sleep; even at seven months old she showed signs of her father's determined personality. Frodo's own bright blue eyes gazed down at her, taking in all her soft baby features, the perfect pink of her full cheeks, the tiny mouth and wispy locks of dark chestnut hair. He was trying to think of who this tiny child reminded him of, but the memory was elusive, and with a shrug he finally let the matter drop, hoping that an answer might come with inattentiveness. Gazing down at her once more, taking in the feel of her small form nestled against his weskit, the slight weight of her tiny head on the crook of his arm. Dilly watched him in return a few moments longer, but finally, with a large yawn, she snuggled herself closer to his silken waistcoat, and feel gently into sleep. Her father smiled down at her, holding her close and tightly, never wanting to let the moment end. Never wanting to know that his tiny daughters would one day grow up…and leave him behind with only his memories. But for now, there were evening baths and summer afternoons, long years of laughter and tears. "The road goes ever on and on…"