You're My Light in the Dark

Chapter 21 : The Last Few Months — Winter

Shortly before my twenty-second birthday, with light snow falling outside and frost starting to grow on the window panes, I was stuck on dishes duty. Lauren had cooked up a storm for the morning's Sunday brunch, and it was my turn to clean up the utter disaster she left in her wake. Sometimes it feels like she uses every pot and pan in the house just to spite me.

But luckily, I had Bag End all to myself. Frodo had dragged Bilbo out for drinks and Lauren was out somewhere causing havoc with the two troublemakers, which meant I could sing to my hearts' content.

My singing voice is terrible, always has been. Add Frodo's love for music and overall enthusiasm about learning our culture and I just get way too nervous to sing around him. Even at my best, any rendition I do would be a pretty poor example and probably wouldn't sound anything like the way it's supposed to. So I save my singing for times like these: doing chores while home alone.

I woke up from a dream a few days ago that involved one of my favorite Disney fairytales growing up: Beauty and the Beast. And as it's a musical, I couldn't help but think back on all the songs. It didn't take long for the title song to get stuck in my head.

It's weird — it's been years since the last time I watched that movie, heard that song, but somehow I can remember the lyrics without any problem. Hell, I can even remember clear as day what Mrs. Potts' voice sounded like, the actress's English accent and all. After four days of remembering, of hearing the old tune over and over in my head — so easily imagining how beautiful that full orchestra had sounded — it felt so incredibly great to feel my mouth form the words, no matter how badly I butchered it.

"Ever just the same, ever a surprise. Ever as before, ever just as sure, as the sun will rise. Tale as old as ti—AH!" But I couldn't finish it, no. Because quite unexpectedly, gentle arms circled my waist, and the sudden touch had my heart leap up in my throat, making me cut the song abruptly short with an undignified shriek. Water and soapsuds coated the kitchen as my arms flailed.

It took but a moment to realize who it was. He tends to get even more cheeky than usual with a few drinks in him. I could smell the bar clinging to his clothes — that unique sharp smell of hops found in the Green Dragon beer and the headiness of pipe smoke. Deep, resonating chuckles sounded in my ear as he pulled me firmly against his chest, hugging me from behind.

"Frodo!" I yelled exasperatedly. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, sneak up and scare the daylights out of me. And it probably won't be the last. My resigned annoyance only made him laugh harder. "Don't do that! Are you trying to scare me to death?"

"Nay," he said, tone light, "It's simply fun watching you jump about. It gives me an excuse to catch you."

"Like you need the excuse," I grumbled.

He only gripped me tighter. "Sometimes I feel like I do," he said, "Because you like to hide things from me. Sometimes I can't help but wonder what goes through that head of yours."

I gave a shrug. "A girl is entitled to some secrets, you know. It's only natural," I said, mimicking the bobbing Shire brogue in a spot-on impression of his Aunt Esme, and was rewarded with another bout of chuckles.

Frodo leaned down to put his mouth right next to my ear, breath hot against my skin. "I knew you were hiding songs from me," he teased, then suddenly squeezed me against him as he lifted me up and spun us around a few times, loop-de-looping us around the kitchen. A dizzy whirlwind, fast enough to make my breath hitch. My feet flared high in the air as we spun around, nearly kicking the cabinets but he didn't seem to notice — instead letting out a joyous "Woo!" sound — somehow steady enough despite his drunken state to not topple us to the ground.

Before I knew it, the dance was over. Once he let my feet back on the floor, I said, "I'm a terrible singer," as if that explained everything.

"I'm well aware," he replied. "You and Lauren both. Like screeching, strangled cats, the pair of you."

"Frodo!"

I could all but picture his grin as he propped his chin atop my head, still holding me close. "That's not the point, though. It's not about how well you do it, it's that you do it at all. It's a part of you, you know; where you came from. You two are the only ones who know those songs here. It would be a shame if you forgot them."

He has a point. But even still… "And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you're in want of more songs?" I accused.

Frodo didn't even bother to deny it. "I catch you humming sometimes. The melodies are beautiful. Can't blame me for wondering what the songs are about," he said in his defense.

"I suppose," I relented, ghosting my fingers lightly over his arms still wrapped around my middle. As much as I love it here, sometimes I can't help but wish I could share some aspects of my old life with him, have him experience things like the fantastic orchestras, soundtracks, and the convenience of CDs. If we had access to one, I don't doubt he'd have a radio playing 24/7.

A pause, then, "Will you finish that love song for me?"

"Think you can handle more strangled cat noises?"

"Please?" Voice so soft, he reminded me of a little kid as he pressed his cheek against my hair.

I didn't have the heart to deny him. I rarely ever do. Being held snug against him, rather than facing him directly, somehow made my nerves jump less. So I did him one better: I started from the beginning.

Frodo is quite skilled when it comes to playing a lute. While I'm sure he's got a bit of natural musical talent, his skills are truly the result of countless hours of practice — it's not a rare occurrence to find him strumming random tunes in his free time. He usually doesn't sing — he sticks to the instrumentals when it's just us around the house and saves his singing for parties and festivals. It's impossible to describe how peaceful it is to listen to his music. Local tunes, songs, and stories, some of which he himself — or even Bilbo — wrote. Hobbit music, in general, tends to be folksy; peppy with a good beat and sung with a rhyme or a tongue twister.

Though I still find myself surprised from time to time when he'll play a more delicate, melodic song — definitely not from around here — with music I never thought I'd hear again. Lauren teaches him songs when I'm not around since she knows I don't approve.

I can't deny how lovely it is to hear those songs again, though. And I guess sometimes my sister does have a point: Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles really does feel like it could've been a hobbit song. And in a way, I guess it is now.

Despite hobbit birthday customs, Frodo has taken it upon himself to get me little gifts in January around my birthday. Hobbits love their gifts and Frodo is no exception. In true mathom fashion, the gifts lack any real use; they're usually items he thinks I would like, rather than what I need. Pretty glass figurines and other knick-knacks have started to line the top of my nightstand and bureau. I adore them, really. Not only because he's been the one to gift them… but more than that, seeing as I don't have many belongings to call my own, the mathoms help to fill the bareness of my room in an otherwise cluttered house. My room has seemed especially bare ever since Lauren moved into her own bedroom across the hall. But on my twenty-second birthday, instead of being handed a small wrapped present, I was given the gift of music.

It was early morning — just before the sunrise — and yet there he was, already seated at the kitchen table, his lute occupying the seat next to him. Looking remarkably presentable even though early mornings are the bane of his existence. A part of me wondered if he'd gone to bed at all.

A teapot sat in the middle of the table, with an assortment of cheese, dried fruit, and pastries all around. A continental breakfast, to be sure. My favorite. Quick, easy nibbles and finger foods; it wasn't the sort of thing hobbits usually consider a real breakfast. More like a snack. Frodo's jokingly started calling it a hodgepodge breakfast.

"Good morning!" he said brightly.

"Morning," I returned, eying the spread with a smile.

He leapt out of his chair and bounded over, grabbing my shoulders to steer me into a chair of my own. "Sit, sit, sit," he said, words coming out fast.

"Do I want to know how much tea you've no doubt had this morning to be this chipper?"

He snorted a laugh. "No, no you don't. Happy birthday." He marked the birthday wish with a kiss on my cheek before making his way back around the table. As he reclaimed the seat across from mine, he said, "So, I've uh… written a new song." He had a nervous energy about him, chin tucked down as he cast almost a shy glance up at me.

"That's excellent!" I enthused. Because indeed it was. He hasn't written anything new in a while… not to my knowledge, anyway. Nothing that he'd ever brought to my attention, like this. Then again, with the way he's acting — the uncharacteristic nervousness — I have to wonder if he's actually written it for me.

"It's… not at all like what I usually write," he admitted. "It's silly and ridiculous, like you."

I had to pause at that assessment, raising an eyebrow. "Really now?"

"You don't even realize it, do you? How you make jokes out of everything?" I shrugged a bit and he continued, "It's just… unique. Of course, with you and Lauren making a habit of it, somehow finding a dark sort of humor even in serious matters, I've started to wonder if that's how people cope where you're from. If that's normal in New Hampshire."

"I suppose it is. There was this saying: laughter's the best medicine."

He bobbed his head in a nod as if not surprised by this information in the least. "You tell all these stories from your home, filled with magic. Talking animals, pumpkin carriages, flying carpets… I was trying to write this song with your stories in mind. So that we'd have a new story to tell. One from around here. Only, I've no idea how well it's turned out."

"Well go on," I encouraged. "All this build-up… I'm sure it's fantastic, but I'm never going to know unless you actually play it."

Frodo grinned at that. Pulling the instrument into his lap, his fingers started strumming a fast tune, like a jig. Then he started singing.

There is an inn, a merry old inn

Beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

One night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat

That plays a five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

Now sawing in the middle.

It's always a pleasure listening to him sing, for he doesn't do it often. And he's actually quite good at it. His voice tends to go deeper, swaying up and down to the beat. The effect is rather hypnotic.

I didn't recognize the song right away. After all, I'd only read it before. Listening to it is quite different. But as he continued, reaching a stanza about dancing silverware and a prancing cow, realization hit me head-on.

This song was featured in the books! I never liked reading the songs, honestly. For me, there was always something lacking about them, because I could never quite imagine their tunes.

But this song… it had been the only song I liked. It stuck out to me back then, because with the silverware and all the animals it reminded me of that Hey Diddle Diddle nursery rhyme. How many times had I read that scene? The Prancing Pony and Frodo's desperate attempt to distract the bar patrons. I'd been mad they didn't feature it in the film: with Frodo singing his uncle's song.

Except it turns out it's not Bilbo's song at all. It's his.

Oh God, how many things have we changed?

As the song came to a close, I found myself on the verge of tears, my anxiety reaching new depths. He watched my reaction with growing concern as he finished out the last notes. "That bad, eh?" he commented wryly, a hint of bitterness in his tone as he set aside his lute.

I shook my head, almost frantic. "No!" I cried, "That's not it at all!" Jumping up out of my seat, I circled the table as quick as I could. He was just getting to his feet as I reached him, and I pounced, springing up to wrap my arms around his neck in a hug. He grunted a bit at the sudden impact, not expecting the embrace in the slightest, then barked out a short laugh as he wrapped his arms around me tight in return.

"I take it you liked it then?" he said, turning cheeky.

I did, truly, but that's beside the point. He can't know the real reason for my tears. "It's wonderful," I said, voice soft, cringing at how I was back to deflecting and sidestepping once more. Let him have this moment of peace and excitement; what should be a happy occasion.

Inwardly I was screaming.

If things are already changing this much, we are so completely fucked.

With our friends wanting to celebrate my birthday, I hadn't been able to discuss anything with Lauren. It wasn't until three days later that I finally got my chance.

Lauren was stuck closing up the pub for the evening. The last of the guests had long since been ushered out the door, and after Primrose and Essel counted the evening's till they bid us goodnight and retired to their quarters. The only thing left to do was clean up shop.

I help her with this aspect of her job every now and then, on the rare off chance I'm still at the pub for last call. After all, it stands to reason we get home faster when everyone pitches in with closing procedures.

Lauren tossed me a rag to wipe down the counters. I caught it easily, watching as she turned and began setting chairs on top of tables to sweep. But I didn't start on the counters. Instead, I set the rag down and braced myself for a difficult conversation.

"We have a problem, Laur. Things are getting messed up."

She stilled, pigtail braids whirling around her as she stopped abruptly, broom in hand. "Say what now?"

It's almost funny how fast we can revert back to old sayings and mindsets when we're alone — things we'd normally never say around others nowadays.

I flashed her a leveling stare. "Things are getting messed up. You know, with how things are supposed to go."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. "Already? But we haven't even done much of anything yet."

"Which is what worries me. Apparently what we've done has been enough change some things. Granted, it's not like it's anything big…" I trailed off, biting at the pad of my thumb as racing thoughts consumed me.

"Yet," Lauren supplied, thankfully quick on the uptake. Her frown matched my own as she set the broom aside. "What's been changed?"

"A song."

She snorted in just about the most unlady-like way possible. "Is that it?"

Her quick change in demeanor, the sudden dismissal, grated at my already fraying nerves. "Isn't it enough?" I asked darkly, letting my tone insinuate just how badly things can get for us all if we no longer have our advantage of knowing what's to come. "It's only what's changed so far, and only what we know about! God only knows what else has changed — and what will continue to change as we move forward."

My words seemed to knock the sense back into her; served as a reminder of the bleakness of our situation. Coming over to lean her elbows on the counter next to me, she heaved a mighty sigh before giving me a sidelong glance. "Do you still want to do this?"

Her question took me aback. "What?" I asked, aghast. "As if that's even an option!"

"But it is," she replied in all seriousness. "Don't you see? We don't have to do this. We don't have to do anything. We can pack up right now and go off traveling somewhere like everyone's expected us to do since day one. Leave the boys to their fate." But the tears welling in her eyes, the way her breath hitched, betrayed her true feelings on the matter.

I nudged her shoulder with mine. "You'd be able to do that? Really?"

"The thought is tempting, sometimes," she admitted softly, "When the doubts creep in and eat away at my thoughts." She sniffled, wiping the wetness off her cheek as a tear spilled over. "It's better than the alternative, at any rate."

"Oh? And what's that?"

The sadness in her expression was almost too much to bear. "Having to watch them leave."

Now that's an abhorrent prospect, if there ever was one. The mere thought of it was enough to make my anxiety spike. "I'd rather not. Even if we could help with the early days of the Scouring… I think we'd be locked up with Fatty and Lobelia before we're able to do much good."

Lauren shook her head. "You're missing the point. Despite everything… all the good and the bad, what may or may not happen… we have to remember why we're doing all this."

"To help protect them," I said immediately, without even a second thought.

"No," she said just as quickly, and at my puzzled look she amended, "Well — okay, yes that — but!" She emphasized her point by poking my side. "Even more importantly — and what's going to keep us sane, mind you — is the fact we're doing all this because we want to! Not because we have to!"

I stared at her for a moment, marveling at her words — marveling at how much she's grown. We may be tweens now, and she still may go about dashing after her friends and being an accomplice to their grand schemes… but at the end of the day, when it's just the two of us trying to put our crazy situation into perspective, sometimes I can see our maturity. Sometimes I can almost imagine the young adults we would've been had we never traveled. Reaching over and grasping her hands in a firm, reassuring grip, I said, "In that case, of course I still want to do this."

"Good! And since we want to do this, Kat…" Lauren continued, giving my hands a squeeze too, "That means things are going to keep changing, unfortunately. We're going to have to learn how to deal with that."

Shaking out of our handhold, she leaned further over the bar to lay her belly on the counter. Scooting herself a bit, Lauren slid forward to dangle her head and chest behind the bar, hugging the counter with her hips. I grabbed her ankle so she wouldn't slide off to fall on her head and she trilled out a pleased, "Thanks!" Despite hanging upside down, it didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. She blindly held up a tankard in my direction. I took it from her and she quickly grabbed another one before sitting up and sliding herself back to a stand.

"Will Prim and Essel be okay with this?" I asked dubiously, watching as she proceeded toward the tap, filling the glass to the brim.

"Oh God, yeah," she said. "Essel will probably say, 'About blasted time!' to me in the morning. An ale or two with meals is a perk of this job. I take 'em up on the food all the time. But the ale? Not so much. I mean, Jesus — the amount I drink with our friends already? I don't want to become an alcoholic. Besides, I'd much rather wine. But we're out of the wine right now, so ale it is."

She handed me the ale and I found a seat at the bar as she filled the other. Coming back over, taking the seat next to me, she huffed out a long, loud breath between puckered lips, almost whistling. "We're in over our heads, aren't we?"

"Oh yeah, without a doubt. But has that ever stopped us before?"

Lauren scoffed. "No, I guess not. I mean, what are the odds? The Elite and the Senior."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Our old levels, the highest ones possible in our respective sports. Elite gymnastics and Senior Ladies figure skating. With our training here in Middle Earth, it's become a mantra of sorts — a reminder. Reaching that level is a rare achievement. To have two people from the same family do it? That's even rarer. What were those odds? But it happened.

So maybe, just maybe, we can get through this war without everything falling to shit.

But what are the odds of that happening?

"We are so out of our goddamn minds, you know that?" she muttered, laughing incredulously at herself and our situation.

"Yup," I drawled out long, holding my glass out to her. "But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way."

She grinned and clinked our glasses. "I'll drink to that! Cheers!"