A/N: Any Elvish that I use can be translated if you like.

Screaming and Singing

Frodo smiled resignedly, dropping his quill into the inkwell as crying came from down the hall. It seemed that he would get no writing done as long as Rosie was out. Sam was off helping a nearby farmer move a large boulder from his field, and Rosie had gone to market. "Frodo," she had asked before leaving, "could you listen for Ellie?"

"Of course, Rose" he had replied, once more resuming his task. He had hoped to get a lot done, but Elanor seemed to have other plans for him.

He pushed back in his chair, rising to go calm her. When he reached her side, he lifted her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. But still her high pitched wails echoed through the room. "Hush," he said, bouncing her gently. The movement caused his pendant to slip out of his shirt and dangle near to Elanor’s small cheek. Seeing it, Frodo remembered Arwen Undomiel, the fair Elven maiden who had given it to him. Thoughts of the Elves brought an elvish lament to mind and Frodo began to hum, swaying back and forth to the slow, smooth rhythm, its haunting tones reverberating vaguely through the room. Soon he was singing, so lost in his song that he did not even notice that Elanor had ceased her screaming and was watching him as she lay in his arms.

Airënna! Vahaia han ambor,

Luntënna met cel,

Nórënna ilfirin,

Yassë nwalyë a nyérë nar ú-hanya.

Metanna, Endor na vanwa,

Met nossë-eva vanë a minya,

tiriel nórë edaineva lanta,

Met cir.

He sang on, his strong tenor reverberating through the room, his mind following the words over the salt-crested waves. He had forgotten the child he held, his eyes staring out the window to the West. He knew that there could be no healing for him in Middle-earth, and all his hopes lay far beyond the reaches of the Shire. What fell hand had led him thus - away from all he knew and loved, to a land vile and cruel; away from happiness and sunshine, to a land miserable and dark? And now that they had seen the end, he must leave his home yet again; leave it for others to enjoy while he sought healing in another far off, unknown realm.

He looked down as Elanor’s small hand wrapped itself around the white gem, pulling gently. "Be careful, Elanor," he said softly, readjusting his hold on her. "That’s a very special stone."

Her tiny red hands stretched above her head, her right one reaching up into his face, as her still-new muscles tried to gain control of themselves. The curls on her head, still short and downy, brushed lightly against Frodo’s shoulder, and her small feet wiggled as her toothless smile shone forth, a blessing she bestowed upon Frodo each time he held her.

"Yes," he whispered softly, smiling in return. "Yes, I know. You say that I should stay, but your father has spoiled you and you cannot see what is best for Frodo." She uttered small guttural noises, as if in protest, but he pressed his forehead against her small one. "Don’t you try to argue, small one. Gerich faer vara!" He kissed her golden head lightly.

Her bright eyes shone up into his, their clear, honest joy and trust easing, just a bit, his sufferings. Sam often told his master how he should find a nice lass of his own and have a family. He said his own family had helped to heal him after the war, and that he felt once again whole. But Sam could not understand Frodo’s inability to live in the perfect happiness of old. There was no more for him in the Shire. He could not stay.

The only peace he found, anymore, was in Elanor. The pure and simple love emanating from the small mite of life did more good for Frodo’s wounded spirit than anything. "You’re my lass, aren’t you, Ellie?" he said, gently kissing the hand that hit him in the face as she gurgled and grunted.

A cardinal landed on the window sill, his bright plumage flashing in the sunlight as his chirps and twitters sang forth. Frodo whistled in reply, his high warble matching the bird’s call almost perfectly. After hopping about for a time, the red bird gave one last whistle and fluttered away. Frodo watched it fly, his gaze once more fastened on the West. Again a song entered his head, only this time one that Galadriel had sung as they were leaving Lothlórien. Ever since she had uttered those haunting words they had been engraved in Frodo’s memory, returning to him during the gloom-filled hours of his life.

He slowly eased himself down into the rocking chair, smiling happily when Elanor did not object. Rocking back and forth in an attempt to lull her once more into sleep, he began singing softly.

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew;

Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew.

Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon, the foam was on the Sea,

And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden tree.

Beneath the stars of Ever-eve in Eldamar it shone,

In Eldamar beside the walls of Elven Tirion.

There long the golden leaves have grown upon the branching years,

While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears.

O Lórien! The Winter comes, the bare and leafless Day;

The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away.

O Lórien! Too long have I dwelt upon this Hither Shore

And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor.

But if of ships I now should sing, what ship would come to me,

What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?

When the slow melody ended and the last long-held note ceased, Frodo looked down; Elanor’s small mouth was opened just a bit, her breathing slow and deep, her small eyes closed peacefully. He cautiously rose from the chair and placed her in the cradle, careful not to let her head fall too hard against the cushion. To his consternation he found that she had gripped the gem again and her small fingers were grasping it tightly.

With utmost care, he gently pried her chubby fingers apart, slipping the white stone from within them before laying her hand gently beside her. Taking very small, light steps, Frodo turned around and tiptoed to the door, glancing behind him to be sure she was still sleeping before pulling the door shut. He grimaced as the hinge creaked, but Elanor did not stir.

With a smile he closed the door, releasing the doorknob without a sound. He continued to tiptoe until he had reached the front hall. Then, when no sound came from the child’s room, he relaxed, letting his held breath out with a sigh, and started for the kitchen.

Suddenly the front door swung open. Merry and Pippin burst in with loud laughter and a slam of the door behind them, their regalia glimmering in the sunlight which filtered through the windows. Immediately screaming came from Elanor’s room and the two hobbits stopped with guilty glances at Frodo. He only glared at them, his eyes boring holes through them.

"Uh . . . oops," Pippin said sheepishly.

"Would you like me to deal with it, Frodo?" Merry asked helpfully.

"No," Frodo answered with a sigh. "No, I’ll take care of her. But what are you two doing here?"

"We were just passing by and we thought we’d come in and see you," Pippin supplied, scooting towards the door. He may be bigger than Frodo, but at times his older cousin had the ability to scare the living daylights out of Pippin.

"See me and my kitchen?" Frodo asked with a patient smile. "Very well. Go have something and I’ll be with you as soon as she’s sleeping." Leaving them to find their own way, he walked back down the hall. He smiled ruefully; no, it would seem that he wouldn’t get much done at all.

~*~*~*~

Gerich faer vara! ~ You have a fiery spirit! (Sindarin)

The first song is mine, sadly. It is a lament, and so the melody should be very slow, like in the Extended Fellowship. It's in Quenya and the grammar is terrible, I’m sure. But I am no expert in the field (if anyone reading this is, please let me know how to fix it). Many thanks to the CoE board of directors and their dictionary.

The second song is Tolkien’s; Galadriel sang it in Chapter 8 of Fellowship of the Ring: Book Two.