Thank you frodosweetstuff for organizing this wonderful Hobbit Month!
Thanks to my dearest beta gamgeefest for her help and support.
Big tight hugs to both of you!
Here's my contribution, I hope you'll like it.
It was a warm summer night, and light from the full moon glanced in through the open window. He listened intently to her breathing, slow and steady. Asleep. A perfect night.
He slid noiselessly from the bed, a steady figure, grey curled hair receding slightly. He moved down the hall past the kitchen and then silently to the back door. He had left it unlocked as usual and slightly ajar so that he could slip out quietly. Like so many times before.
He stepped out into the shadow of his smial, looked about the moonlit scene, and then walked decisively towards Bag End’s garden, across the lawn and past the sleeping flowers.
He paused at the hidden garden gate, then crossed the lane and strode into the path leading into the woods. In the distance he heard the cry of an owl, the rustle of the trees in the warm summer wind. He came to a bench and sat down.
How many times had he spent the night here? How many times had he thought about long gone days? Days he missed.
He lit his pipe and listened to the beauty of the night.
Beauty. What a curious word. What means beauty?
His wife was beautiful, the love for his children … this meant beauty to him. The starless night right now – beauty. The scent of summer – beauty. His aching heart – beauty. His master, his friend, his confident – this was beauty beyond everything.
He remembered when Frodo left – he remembered how quick his heart was broken as it once was full of joy. He missed him. But Frodo wanted him to stay and he himself knew it was the best for him and for Frodo.
No, not for him. But Frodo wanted him to build a family, to fulfil his tasks. At first he hadn’t understood, but now after so many years he knew Frodo was right. He loved his family, adored his wife and children – they gave him the strength he needed to keep him whole, to keep him strong. He was grateful for this. And yet he missed Frodo, every day a little more.
To him it seemed just like yesterday they were together, those bright blue eyes looking at him, that dark black hair shining in moonlight, and he remembered those elf-like lips as they touched his forehead when Frodo said farewell. His body was still young, if but in his mind, still needing gentle caring touch, still needing tender lasting love.
One thought kept him going and he whispered like he did so many nights before, “I know you’ll wait for me, Frodo. You’ll wait for your Sam. Time is close, my friend.” He loved the feeling he had inside because they were growing … stronger and stronger with every day.
He listened to the silence, but sometimes the stillness was far too loud…