You're My Light in the Dark
Chapter 14: Pressing Thoughts
Bag End was quiet… too quiet.
It reminded Frodo of days long since past, when it was just him and Uncle Bilbo. It seemed like such a long time ago…
The Tamsin's are loud lasses. Well – Lauren, more than Kate, but it's all the same. Ever since the beginning, they were able to express themselves so freely, large grins and boisterous laughter as often as they could manage it. More often than not he found himself smiling just as they were, as if their happiness was infectious.
Was that not the reason why he found himself drawn to them? Was that not the reason why Bilbo wanted them to stay?
"You want them to stay?" Frodo had asked, surprised. "Here?"
The strange lasses had been around for the better part of two days, looking around town for more permanent lodgings. They were in the guest room, packing up their few belongings, having made it abundantly clear they would not intrude any longer than necessary.
"Why ever not?" Bilbo returned, taking a seat at the kitchen table while pinning him with a reproachful glance. "You just said the lasses have nowhere to go, did you not? Who am I to turn them away? We could use the help cleaning the house, besides."
"No, no, of course," he found himself saying quickly, "It's only that you were at Brandy Hall, and I did not know what else to do at the time, and—"
His Uncle waved a hand. "No matter. You did the right thing, my boy. As an old friend of mine used to say: 'Sometimes life gives you surprises, and that's when you must decide what you're going to do about it.'"
Frodo couldn't help but smile at that. "Wizard's wisdom, eh?"
Bilbo paused at those words for the briefest of moments, long enough for Frodo to wonder if he had been talking about Gandalf at all, then nodded. "Precisely. Besides," he said, and by this point his Uncle's eyes had softened quite a bit – that paternal glance Frodo knew all too well, "Spending more time with hobbits your own age will do you some good, lad."
Frodo always knew that Bilbo had reservations about taking him in as a ward – knew that he shared the same tendencies of enjoying solitude. It was the reason why Bilbo had waited so long before taking him in, resulting in many years at Brandy Hall with the Brandybuck side of the family. It was also the reason why the Tamsin's were invited to stay at Bag End. Clever old hobbit took away their guilt by admitting he needed them, and not the other way around – after all, who could refuse an old hobbit asking for help?
No one and Bilbo very well knew that.
And down, through it all, even though Bilbo never voiced it, Frodo had a deep awareness of what Bilbo was afraid of: I don't want you ending up like me. Old. Eccentric. Alone.
Frodo didn't like admitting this, even to himself. And yet… he knew it was true.
When Bilbo asked the Tamsin sisters to stay at Bag End, there had been no way to predict the walking puzzle the Tamsin's presented. Sure, Frodo had known since the beginning that there was something about them… something wholly different, if not a little dark. How, in between their infectious laughter, Kate would stare off into space, retreating into her thoughts as her eyes grew sad. He had always wondered what she was thinking about in those moments.
Well, now he knew. And he wasn't sure he liked it much.
It was, quite simply, too much to even think about.
Breathing deep, he could feel a twinge of pain pulse behind his temple. Propping elbows up on the kitchen table he held his head in his hands, pressing palms at his temples, hoping the pressure would alleviate the pain. It did, if only slightly. But then he opened his eyes and saw the cause of the problem staring right back at him: the drawings Kat had done for him, of items and places from her home. This New Hamp-Sure.
The drawings depicted strange things: Tall, narrow structures built high into the sky… "skyscrapers" the sisters had called them. Motorized carts – they looked like boxes on wheels, really – that could cover large distances without an animal to pull them. And machines that held resources of information by simply asking and pressing buttons. Their explanations didn't really explain anything; creating far more questions than answers.
It doesn't make any sense. They speak of places and things that don't exist – that couldn't possibly exist.
And yet… the two of them banter about it all so fluidly, with long-entrenched familiarity.
But it's impossible, isn't it?
How is he supposed to coincide life as he's always known, with the impossibilities they speak of? And should he? They might be mad, pure and simple. Kate even admitted it herself, that she feared it – and also feared that madness would be the conclusion he would ultimately come to in the end.
But still, that look she had given him that night – Yule, by the fireplace, the firelight catching the tears on her cheeks, her gray eyes seeming darker than usual as they all but pled for him to believe her. "Now that you know the truth, our fate is in your hands."
Kate spoke of truth in that moment with such surety it took him by surprise. Even now, he was certain that she believed the impossible to be true – Her and Lauren both. Could the sisters be deluding themselves into a self-made fantasy?
Or, what if it all really was true? For this travel to have actually occurred… that New Hamp-Sure was not a figment or dream?
Dare he believe it?
It made sense, in a way; it explained their differences, their accents, their names. But how is such a thing possible?
"Frodo-lad?"
Bilbo's voice cut through his thoughts abruptly, making him jump. So lost in thought, he hadn't noticed his Uncle's return home. After the incident with Lauren at Brandy Hall, Bilbo had gone to discuss the matter with Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esme. Surprisingly, he'd been gone the entire week. And judging by his Uncle's weary frown as he settled into the chair across from him, it must not have been the most pleasant of visits.
"Is something the matter, lad?" Bilbo asked concernedly. "You look much like you used to as a wee boy when you were stumped by one of my good riddles – the same slouch and scrunched eyes. You're going to give yourself a headache if you're not careful."
Knowing the reprimand when he heard it, Frodo immediately sat back in his chair so he was not leaning on the kitchen table. It earned him a small, satisfied smile. Giving a sigh, Frodo collected the drawings and commented, "Already have a headache, I'm afraid. This riddle just might be impossible."
Bilbo waved a hand in dismissal. "Bah. Nothing is ever impossible, lad. Especially riddles. I thought I taught you better than that." Turning his gaze from the table up to his uncle's face, Frodo was greeted to Bilbo's assuring eyes.
"This riddle is different from anything I've ever seen."
"Why don't you let me have a go at it, then?" Bilbo asked.
How could he possibly phrase it to Uncle in a way that would not betray her trust?
"Now that you know the truth, our fate is in your hands."
Those soft, crying eyes of hers will forever haunt him, he couldn't help but think.
Blast it all.
Frodo shook his head, turned away so he wouldn't have to look Bilbo, and his disappointment, in the eye. Large wrinkled hands enveloped his own, giving a gentle squeeze. "Often times, lad, the correct answer is right in front of your nose. You just have to open your mind, and your eyes, and allow yourself to see it."
That evening Frodo was unable to sleep. Grabbing a book, slowly closing his bedroom door behind him, he made his way to the den. To his surprise, light already shone in the doorway. Sleep was not only evading him, it seemed. He half-expected to see Kate curled up in an armchair – she always has so much on her mind, after all. But instead, Lauren was seated on the floor in front of the tea table when he entered, her playing cards sprawled out in piles before her, some face-up and others face-down – a pattern Frodo could not make out at first glance. At the sound of his footsteps she looked up, giving him a small half-smile.
"Hey," she greeted.
There it was again: the foreign-ness. The very thing he's been trying to rationalize in his head.
"Hey," he parroted back, more because – after witnessing the two sisters exchange a number of similar pleasantries – he knew that was the proper response rather than because he understood it.
"Hey's for horses," she commented. Not having heard that as a reply before, that one took him by surprise. But at her light tone, and how she was biting back a grin, it only took Frodo a moment to see that she was teasing him. "Can't sleep, either, huh?"
"Aye," he said, taking a seat on the couch on the other side of the low table, opposite of her, and held up his book. "I was hoping a spot of reading would quiet my thoughts. But perhaps it's just a fool's hope."
Moving a stack of cards from one end of the pattern to the other, she pinned him with a knowing glance. "That bothered, huh? Kat and I are to blame, aren't we?"
He hadn't expected her to be so blunt about it. But maybe he should have. Lauren was always so direct about things…
"Kat's been thinking a lot about it too, you know. Worried about your opinion and if you think we're nuts. She's been more worried about it than she probably wants to admit. Doesn't matter how much I tell her that you're gonna have your opinions no matter how much she stresses herself out about it."
"I don't really know what to think," Frodo explained.
Lauren nodded sagely at that, as if she had been expecting such an answer. "Of course not. It's a lot to take in. Hell, I still don't really know what to make of our situation."
It felt odd, this exchange. So used to associating Lauren with his trouble-maker cousins, combined with her playful happy-go-lucky attitude and her young age, never before had he seen her as a source of such wisdom. But the way she was holding herself – with calm, rational understanding behind her words and in her gaze – he was sure this was a side of her that not many saw. He had a feeling that she'd much rather be known for her wit and cheer instead of anything else. Almost as if her typical exuberance was compensating for their troubled thoughts.
"My sister didn't tell you about us to upset you or confuse you, you know. That wasn't her intention at all, if it means anything. She just… sincerely wanted you to know."
Kate's words from that night came to mind, then. "It's just, we didn't know what else to do. We didn't want to lie to you – we hated doing it."
When Kate admitted that she and Lauren lied to him and Bilbo, he had wanted to be so angry. In that moment, in an initial flash of white-hot anger, he had felt so betrayed. How many times had he reflected on that night, agonizing over that conversation and her tears in the firelight? But there was something in her eyes, in her shaking voice, which had been so earnest. Of course she had been sincere. That much was obvious. And because of that he found, in the end, he couldn't be angry with her even if he tried.
"I know," he said thickly, and he cleared his throat at the emotions that were making his voice rasp. "But of all hobbits, why tell me?"
Lauren flipped a card over, then pinned him with a leveling stare. "I think you already know the answer to that."
Her words were thick with suggestion. He'd heard that tone before, from Uncle Bilbo. "Not much gets by me now. She may be different and I may be old, but don't think I don't see…"
Sure, he knows very well how he feels about Kate Tamsin. It hadn't taken long, with those large grins of hers, even despite her fierce stubborn determination that – still to this day – he doesn't quite understand.
There is still much about the Tamsin sisters he doesn't understand, it seems.
But for Kate to… Dare he even dream…?
Much to his embarrassment he felt his face grow hot, and suddenly a piece of lint on the knee of his trousers seemed very, very interesting. It didn't help that he could still feel Lauren's gaze on him.
"I see the way you look at her, Frodo," she said softly.
Elbereth… was he truly that transparent? Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave a sigh.
Frodo was very aware of his approaching coming of age, aware of Bilbo's hopes for him, and what the rest of his family expect – especially after Bilbo declared him as his heir. The family half-expect him to turn out much like Bilbo, growing old alone, as if sharing an interest in foreign things that are 'not hobbit business' is somehow a hindrance to marriage. Yet, they also half-expect him to 'do the proper thing' and settle down with a lass. The Baggins name is still very much respected, if only for the old money and rumors of Bilbo's vast foreign wealth.
Busybodies the lot of them.
He doesn't right care about what they think. Only Bilbo's opinions have ever mattered. But still… for the longest time, there hadn't been a single lass in the Shire that could hold his attention like the tales of magic and adventures could.
Not until Kate, anyway.
She was at the kitchen sink, hands under the running faucet as she doubled over the counter, mewling in pain. As he came up to stand beside her, he could see soapsuds lining the bottom of the sink, gradually swirling down the drain. Flayed layers of skin flapped to and fro under the force of the water, and she hissed as the wounds opened and closed and opened and…
He turned away, feeling his stomach clench unpleasantly. Not only at the sight, but at the fact that such pain was the consequence of his actions.
"I'm sorry," he said. "So, so sorry. If I hadn't—"
She shut off the tap with a forearm, keeping her palms as open and still as possible. "Don't apologize to me, Frodo. I don't deserve it."
That took him aback, just a little. Doesn't deserve? How could she possibly say such a thing?
At his silent, wide-eyed stare she muttered softly, "This was my own damn fault. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about." Giving a small, rueful laugh she added, "If anything, I should be apologizing to you for yelling at you after I fell. You hadn't known, and it wasn't your fault I let my concentration slip. It's what I get for being out of practice, I suppose."
"Even still…" he pressed, all too aware of her injured hands, having lost several layers of skin, which were now a dark shade of raw, angry red. "I can't help but feel responsible."
"I was the one hanging upside down in a goddamn tree," she snorted.
He frowned a bit at her cursing, yet could not bring himself to comment on it. "Indeed you were," he agreed, instead. "But that doesn't change how I regret my actions and the pain they have caused you."
He felt his eyes drawn down to her mouth, noting as it dropped open a little at his words. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Neither are you, it seems," he pointed out.
She turned, making to grab the clean bandages she had spread out along the counter. Goodness only knows how she had gotten them there, and spread them out, as it was obvious she couldn't really make much use of her hands. He could all too easily picture her struggling with the task for a good half hour, spreading the cloth out with her elbows out of sheer determination. For all he knew, that's actually what she did. Before she could hurt herself further with her efforts, he swiped the bandages off the counter, not able to help the satisfied smile that played at his lips when she pouted and made an indignant sound – "Hey!" He couldn't help it: he enjoyed being right. And at her furrowed brow and annoyed eyes, he had a feeling that she was certain that he had known the efforts it had taken her to get the bandages in that position.
Motioning to the kitchen table he said, "If you won't let me apologize, let me at least help bandage you up."
"I guess I can't say no to that," she replied slowly, her annoyance melting away just a little as she relented. Taking a seat opposite him, holding out her hands – which appeared ever so red in the candlelight now that they have been out of the cold water for a few minutes – she gave the smallest of smiles. "What a pair we make, huh? Arguing over the stupidest thing…"
He paused in his handiwork at her words, stilling, white cloth only halfway wrapped on one injured hand. Because it was in that moment that he truly realized the comfortable familiarity that had settled between them, her hands in his – no, even before that. When had it started? He couldn't recall. The possibility of it just hadn't occurred to him, not really.
"Aye, what a pair we make…"
With all of her oddities and foreign-ness, Kate might as well have walked out of one of those adventure tales he so enjoyed.
And in the end, she was exactly that: the mysterious lass from a faraway land, where impossible objects existed as if by magic. Her and Lauren both.
Lauren was still watching him, eyes peeking out from beneath her blonde bangs… still expecting a response. "I see the way you look at her…"
But could he admit that to Lauren?
Her patience reaching its limit, Lauren continued, "Is it okay for you to like Kat?"
The terminology sounded odd to his ears, but he could understand her meaning well enough. Her fears were well-founded, stemming from the scene Aunt Esme created the week before. On his visit, Bilbo had not changed Esmeralda Brandybuck's opinion of the Tamsin sisters in the slightest. That hadn't been his goal, at any rate – to do that much was futile. The old bloodlines – the old wealth – was held in far too high esteem. But the old hobbit could give his cousin an earful on behalf of yet another poor lass that Esme has embarrassed in the past few years.
"I… care about your sister, yes," he relented, finally.
"I already know that," she pressed. "But, well, can you do anything about it? Or is it…"
She trailed off, and he could easily imagine her unasked question: Or is it like with Merry and me?
"Uncle Bilbo has already hinted at his approval, if that's what you mean," Frodo replied.
Her expression relaxed quite a bit at that. "Oh thank God."
He tilted his head to the side, curious as to the extent of her relief on the matter. "Surely you already knew that, though? Or suspected it, at least?"
Giving a shrug, she did not even spare him a smile as she replied, "I just needed to be sure." He gave nod, understanding her uncertainty all too well, and made to open his book at the marked page. Her voice, however, cut the motion short. "Just promise me something?" When he looked her in the eye she continued, "Be good to her, please, and take things slow. We… she… too many horrible things have happened to us. So, just… keep that in mind."
He found himself blinking at Lauren in a stunned silence for a moment, unable to believe she had suggested that perhaps things were not as one-sided as he initially believed them to be, and – on top of that – she gave him her approval to move forward.
"Of course," he murmured when, at long last, he found his voice.