You're My Light in the Dark

Chapter 12: Being Different

"What do you mean you 'told Frodo'?"

We were home alone in our shared bedroom around lunchtime the next day. Merry and Pippin had escorted Lauren home earlier that morning. The two troublemakers were quite put out when I announced I had to steal their partner in crime for a very important and very private discussion. That was when Frodo piped up he still owed them that drink, some sort of bet he'd lost some time ago. Merry and Pippin looked a little confused, but never the sort to turn down free drinks, allowed themselves to be ushered out the door. Frodo bobbed an encouraging nod in my direction as he left, realizing the tough discussion I had before me.

Bless him for giving us the privacy we needed.

From my seat on the edge of our bed, I smiled as innocently as I could. Lauren's frown only deepened, her glare only got darker.

" …I told him about where we're from."

To say Lauren was upset would be an understatement. She picked up a book off the bureau and threw it against the wall. But it was an old tome and the fragile bindings couldn't handle the impact. It shattered, sending the pages loose and falling into a crumpled heap. I sent her a glare of my own, not at all appreciating the work it would take to put the book back together, if it could be mended at all.

"Well, that's just wonderful. So glad you were able to bond over the insanity," she muttered sarcastically. "You couldn't have just had a romantic evening or enjoy his company like a normal person. No, you just had to bring up how crazy we truly are. Since you know that's what it sounds like to him, right? We're not just crazy, no — we're absolutely fucked up nuts. How exactly did that conversation come up, huh? I don't even want to know. I can just see it now: 'Oh, what a wonderful party, that was. But I can't have fun, not even for a night, no, because I just have to tell you how crazy I am! You see, this place here, 'Middle Earth' – it doesn't really exist. Or so we thought. But here we are, even if we have no idea how we fucking got here!'" Her voice kept getting louder, and by the end of her tirade she was downright screaming. I bet hobbits in their homes two hobbit holes down from us could hear her.

When she finished I shook my head at her. "Keep it down, will you? Unless you want the whole Shire knowing." I only continued after she rolled her eyes at me. "He's not going to tell anyone. Besides, you know we had to tell him eventually. Lying wasn't right. And if anyone here would listen to us, and would hear us out, it would be Frodo."

"Wonderful," she repeated sarcastically. "Not that this involves me at all or anything, but you couldn't have talked to me before you told him this because…?"

"I didn't plan on it," I retorted. "It just kind of happened. The guilt of it got to me. I'm sorry – it's just, I wasn't thinking."

She shot me an exasperated look. "No shit," she said dryly. With a sigh the anger seemed to seep out of her, leaving only weariness. She made her way over to the opposite side of the room, gathered the scattered pages of the broken book, muttering promises to fix it. After a few moments of silence, with the two of us unsure of how to proceed she said, "I'm sorry I'm so upset. It's just – it's kind of a big deal."

"I know, Laur, but you weren't there last night; you didn't see his reactions to things. He thought things through and didn't immediately jump to conclusions. Considering what he and his uncle have been going through, I think he's become a bit sensitive about perceptions of supposed 'craziness'."

It was clear from her expression that my explanation didn't alleviate her fears any. "I can think of one reason why he took the news so well. He's got a thing for you, you know – and don't you even deny it," she ground out, making no room for me to say anything. I bit my tongue, holding back the protests she had known were coming. "You may not notice it, or you may not want to admit it, but I know better. I see the way he looks at you. He's—"

This time I did cut in. "He's intrigued. All of our friends are. We're like a mystery to them, they want to understand us."

"Yeah, well. Say what you want."

"It's true!" I insisted.

"To a point," she retorted back. "It doesn't change the fact that I've noticed him watching you. Not in a creepy way, though, despite how much older he is than us. It's kind of cute, really."

"He's not that much older than me, Laur. He's twenty-seven." I sighed as soon as the words passed my lips, at her victorious smirk, as if the defense was a sign of my feelings for him.

"Still illegal where we're from. You're only seventeen."

"And things are different here," I replied. "He doesn't come of age until he's thirty-three, you know that. And it seems our age – our maturity – translates differently here. We look and act more like early twenty-somethings in hobbit years. You even said so yourself just the other day." At her pointed look I continued, "Besides, it's not as if anything can really come of it anyway."

Lauren frowned at that. "And why the hell not?" she asked, and it struck me then that she actually wanted me to go for it – to see how things would turn out with Frodo. As if that was even an option. Then again, this is also the girl who has made her interest in Merry more than obvious.

I paused for a minute, searching for the right words. "It's amazing that we are even here. But think, Laur, just how quick and easy we got here. No rhyme or reason that we have been able to see – it just happened. One day we suddenly appeared here. I'm so afraid… that it will be just as easy to go back to our old life. To wake up and have this reality just… disappear."

She bit her lip and nodded in understanding as if that very same thought had crossed her own mind. But then I added, "The war is far off – I mean, he's not even going to get the ring for at least another five years – but he is going to go through a lot. I don't want to add to his troubles."

"Especially if we just up and disappear one day without warning," she said, mirroring my own thoughts.

"Exactly," I said.

"The thing is, though," she said, glancing up from the tattered book in her hands, "I don't think it's going to matter either way, Kat. It's obvious he cares about you already. Our leaving will affect him if you decide to pursue a relationship with him or not. Romance aside, he is still a friend, after all." Lauren left the room then, probably off to find materials to fix the text she broke.

Dammit, she has a point. Still… for some reason I can't help but think that a relationship would only complicate things.

You know how when you watch a clock time seems to slow down? That feeling only gets worse when you're watching a clock while standing on your hands. Another snowstorm was raging outside, which left me stuck training indoors. The clutter of Bag End doesn't allow for much, but I managed to clear a section of wall space in the bedroom I share with Lauren. Handstand holds against the wall are better than nothing, and the best part about them is that they are very safe – there won't be any bloody hands or broken limbs today.

It causes a wicked rush of blood to the head, though. My face was hot and pulsing, shoulders and wrists aching, and yet the secondhand of the pocket watch situated on the floor between my hands moved stubbornly slow.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, and but a moment later Frodo was pushing open the door and calling my name.

"Kate, Uncle wants to know where—Oh."

That was how he found me, upside down and against a wall. A compromising position to be sure. I couldn't see his face but I could hear the surprise in his voice. There was a hint of awkwardness as well, as if he had walked in on something and disturbed my privacy. I had on a pair of trousers with my shirt tucked in, so it's not like he walked in on anything indecent. The situation was so ridiculous I had to laugh a bit.

"Hold on, I've got ten seconds left," I said, and when my time was up, I stepped down from the handstand and turned myself upright again. "You have quite a knack for finding me practicing my handstands."

"So it seems," he agreed, looking a bit puzzled. I guess it isn't every day you find a hobbit standing around on their hands. "You're as red as a tomato."

"Good, 'cause that's the look I was going for." I grinned at him, at his curiosity.

He ignored my flip remark and pursed his lips together. It wasn't exactly an approving look. If anything, it was filled with concern. "You must've been up there for a long time to be that flushed."

"Stop worrying! I've been flipping around for fifteen years. I know what I'm doing – you got to trust me on that." I knew where the concern was coming from – the fall from the tree, not to mention any other fall or possible injury he can concoct with that imagination of his.

"It's not your acrobatics that I worry about. It's the fact you push yourself so hard that worries me. There must be a reason why."

I could hear the question he didn't ask – why do you train so hard and so often? – so I explained, "It took a lot of time to get the skills I have, it would be a shame to ignore my talents and let them go to waste. Besides, you never know when my training might come in handy."

Frodo nodded, not able to argue against that, and said with a slight sigh, "Fair enough. But promise me you will take care of yourself – no more injuries."

Smiling again, and not being able to help myself, I gave him a small salute. "Of course mon capitane."

Those words made him pause, and he glanced at me blankly for a moment. "You are something else," was all he said, shaking his head at me in a bewildered sort of way.

That's when I realized that Frodo would not understand the reference. Whoops. But at least now he knows why I say strange things sometimes. "Anyway," I started as I rolled my wrists in circles to stretch feeling back into them, "You had mentioned something about your uncle, yes?"

"Oh – right. He was asking about Lauren and if she would start cooking dinner. But I haven't been able to find her."

"She went out to the market earlier to buy some twine to fix one of Bilbo's books," I replied. "But that was hours ago, even before the snowstorm started. She should've been back by now."

Normally Bilbo doesn't have to ask for meals, as Lauren is very diligent when it comes to her cooking duty. She's proud of it and rubs it in our faces every so often seeing as she is the only one around Bag End with a knack for cooking. Frodo and I burn almost everything we touch and Bilbo – while a decent cook – spends as much time as he can on his writings and leaves the task to us. The fact that Lauren wasn't back was troubling – and now that it's snowing rather hard outside doesn't help matters.

My worry must've been apparent because Frodo was quick to place a hand on my shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. "She's all right. She probably ran into my cousins or got caught up with some pub regulars in town."

I know he's right. The Shire is a safe place, after all. The only real troublemakers around were Merry and Pippin – hardly people to worry about. Even still, not knowing was enough to put me on edge until her safe return.

At 11:30 that night, right when I thought I couldn't wait a minute longer without going crazy and striking up a search party, Lauren stormed into Bag End and slammed the round, green front door behind her – right into Merry's face, apparently. From our seats in the den Bilbo, Frodo, and I exchanged alarmed glances at all the commotion – with Lauren's thunderous stomped steps and Merry's shouted apologies, not to mention the poor old door.

"What the blazes? What is with all that racket, girl?" Bilbo asked as we got to the front hall.

Upon closer inspection I could see Lauren's face was stained with tears, and by the looks of it, she'd been crying for some time. Her hair was falling loose from its braid, with wisps sticking out every which way, giving the impression that she'd been tugging at her hair in her distress. "I'm sorry, Mister Bilbo. It's just been an awful day and Merry followed me the whole way home despite me telling him not to. I'm just going to go to bed now. Goodnight." She managed to keep her composure long enough to get the words out, and as quick as she came in, she ducked her chin and booked it down the hall to our room. She hadn't even taken off her snow-drenched coat and scarf.

"Oh dear," Bilbo murmured, the sentiment mirroring all of our thoughts. "I do hope she is all right." He turned to me still frowning. "Do take care of her, Kate-lass. Something certainly happened this evening. I'll have to have a word with my dear cousin Esmeralda about all this before the week is out."

There was something curious about Bilbo's words. Something didn't seem right about them. "With Merry's mum? About what?" I couldn't help but ask. It felt odd that Bilbo seemed to already know what the fight was about – if it was a fight at all. Lauren seemed more heartbroken than angry.

But Bilbo just motioned in the direction Lauren went. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll take care of it, lass." From behind him, Frodo nodded grimly, he too seemingly aware of what was going on. I felt at a loss. What in the world just happened? I found myself nodding, and moving toward our room. It was as if my body was on autopilot and I was just along for the ride. The only thing I could think about was how the Bagginses must genuinely care about us. The feeling is mutual, sure, but I just hadn't realized the extent of it until now.

When I got to our room Lauren was planted face down on the bed, her head shoved underneath a large pillow. At hearing the door open she said, "Go away," her voice muffled, not moving an inch.

Her jacket and scarf were thrown in a wet ball on the floor next to the bed. I took quick note of them, knowing they would need to be moved to a more suitable location to dry, but they would have to wait for now.

"No," I said, crossing my arms and taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to her. "Not until you tell me what the hell that was about. You were gone all day. Where were you? I was worried sick."

Lauren tossed the pillow from over her head to the other side of the bed and sat up reluctantly. She knew better than to try and argue with me about leaving her alone. Her movements were drawn out, her face long and her eyes sad. I haven't seen her so utterly disappointed since before we arrived in Middle Earth. She tugged at the tie securing what little was left of her braid, untangling her hair with shaking hands. When she was finished she turned to look me straight in the eye. After a long pause she finally asked, "Why is everything so difficult, Kat?"

I didn't know what to say to that. So I remained silent. Luckily for me, she was just starting her rant.

"I mean, can't anything ever be easy for us? First, it was Dad leaving. Then it was that miserable person Mom became when he left. Then it was her going overboard with our sports. Then it was our coaches taking advantage of her craziness – wanting us to train all hours of the day to line their pockets. Not that Mom saw it that way – after all, it was all to make us 'the very best'…" Lauren trailed off, tilting her head back to bark out a bitter laugh at the ceiling.

"Lauren, what happened?" I cut in, pleading again.

"I thought we were done with all the bullshit," she said simply, "But I guess I was wrong." Light blue eyes were now turned down at the sheets, wringing her hands up in the coverlet. "Merry's mother pulled me aside at the market today and invited me to tea. She was very insistent. I didn't want to be rude, so I went along to Brandy Hall with her even though it was a long trip. Oh, Kat, it was awful."

"What do you mean? She seems perfectly nice to me."

"She was at first," Lauren conceded with a nod. "But teatime quickly turned into an inquisition. She wanted to know all of these things about me – us – like our family ties, and how the Tamsin's aren't from any hobbit family she's ever of, and where we're from, and where we've been…" she hiccuped a sob, a tear spilling over and rolling down her cheek. She swiped at it angrily with the back of a hand, going on to explain, "It was everything any hobbit around here would want to know about us – the information everyone has been so curious about.

"I told Esmerelda the same things we've told everyone else. But she was different about it. Usually when people don't agree with our travels, or with what 'our family did by living abroad', they just shake their heads at us like we're poor lost souls that don't know any better – and maybe they even think that we're eccentric like good old Mister Bilbo. And you know what? Maybe we are all those things. But when Merry's mother looked at me after I explained everything… it was if I was some sort of mongrel."

So that was it then. Our foreignness. I was expecting something like this to happen sooner, to be honest, since hobbits really aren't keen on anything foreign at all. Of course, being a Tolkien fan I had already known that. Lauren hadn't, not really. I glanced around the room then, at the sparse yet ornate furnishings, the paneled walls, the rounded doorway… everything about the room was so distinctly hobbit – just as the rest of Bag End was – and I suddenly felt so out of place, just as I had the moment I realized we were in Middle Earth for the first time. How foolish I had been to think we would ever truly fit in.

"You know what the worst part about it was?" Lauren continued softly, "What hurt the most?" I turned back to face her and she wasn't trying to hide the tears any longer. They flowed freely down her face, reddening her eyes and her cheeks in such a pitiful way. "His mother outright said to me – straight to my face – that no matter what I did I would never be good enough for him; that she'd never approve of a match with me. Ever. All because she doesn't know where we come from." She threw herself at me in a hug then, squeezing with all her might like I might disappear if she let go. I held her back just as tight as she cried into my shirt. We might've stayed like that for minutes or hours but I couldn't be sure. All I did know was that she cried herself to sleep.

After rekindling the fire in the den and placing Lauren's wet winter gear next to the hearth, I had just sat down in an armchair when the front door opened, closed, and locked. Frodo appeared in the doorway a moment later, running a hand through his dark curly hair in a tired, exasperated sort of way. "It took a lot to convince Merry to go home. I don't think he understands that Lauren needs some time."

The fire cast an orange glow around the room, making shadows dance along the walls. This is my favorite room at night. It's toasty and comfortable, which makes it an excellent place to think. Family portraits line the walls and grace the mantel above the fireplace – they seemed to stand out more tonight than they usually do, probably because of Lauren's ordeal. Even still, I can't help but marvel at how close-knit hobbit families are, and how important the concept of family is to them. The flames crackled, sparking new light, and that's when I noticed a new frame on the already crowded mantel. But it couldn't be—

Quickly getting to my feet, crossing the room, there it was – a sketch I had recently done of Lauren and me, the two of us laughing. I ran my finger along the edge of the frame; hardly daring to believe it was on display in the den.

"Bilbo was rather impressed with your drawings," Frodo explained with a small smile. He was leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, and looking very proud of himself. "That's been there for three days now, I was wondering when you would notice it. Perfect timing considering the circumstances, I'd say."

"He went through my portfolio?"

"Indeed he did," Frodo replied. "But that was probably my fault, as I told him you had some talent for drawing."

"But why?"

His smile dimmed a bit at the question but he didn't miss a beat. "Do you even need to ask?" he questioned, as if the answer was obvious. But yes, I did. I needed to hear it from him.

I toyed with Lauren's scarf, smoothing out the edges with my big toe. Even after living in the Shire as a hobbit for the past few months, my hobbit feet still feel awkward from time to time. Lily's commented on a couple of occasions how my feet are some of the smallest hobbit feet she's seen, but they still feel incredibly large to me. All the same, though, my small, not-so-hairy feet serve as a reminder that Lauren and I aren't quite full hobbit. And how could we be? We grew up as American girls – and very human girls at that. "It's just… Lauren and I don't belong. We – the world we're from… it's all so different."

He shook his head, looking disappointed at what I had said. "Don't let my aunt or any of the other hobbits like her get to you. It's like I told you the first day we met – tell them one small thing about yourself and they think they know everything about you. It's all assumptions, nothing more." He came into the room with long strides, and placed a strong hand under my chin, gently lifting my gaze to look him in the eyes – all so I could see his sincerity. "You claim that you and your sister don't belong. But I disagree. You belong with us – Uncle and me. We Bagginses love all things foreign – people, places, no matter."

He said it all so seriously, with a hint of something more at its core. It was a subtle flirt but I noticed it easily. It would have been hard not to. He was so close and comforting, and the warm, dimly lit room with the glowing hearth certainly set the mood. For a moment I didn't know what to say or what to do. I hardly have experience with such matters. Boys had always taken a backseat to gymnastics. But then I noticed he still had a hand underneath my chin – his right hand, the hand that would later lose a finger to Gollum and the Ring. It gave me pause, snapped me out of the moment I almost lost myself within. With a deep breath, I quickly stepped back. He took the hint, realized just how close he was, and took a few steps back as well, eyes cast downward and suddenly becoming shy. I felt bad about it, already regretting that I stopped things before they began. But it was for the best, wasn't it?

Not wanting things to be awkward between us, I flashed him a reassuring smile and said, "If you love foreign things then clearly you have far too much Took in you."

At the typical hobbit sentiment, so ironic considering our conversation of being different, he gave a surprised, if not somewhat unsettled, laugh. "See? Spoken like a true Shire hobbit," he said, eyes twinkling.