Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

"No, that's still too long. You'll put everyone to sleep if you name every family in the Shire," Frodo observed.

"You can shorten it," Frodo declared. "What about 'My dear People!'? It will appeal to everyone."

Title: A Joyous Moment
Rating: G
Summary: A short conversation after Pippin proposed to Diamond.

In his joy, Pippin couldn't stay silent any longer, and began to laugh with all his heart. His eyes were shining brightly as he grabbed his cousin's shoulders, whispering in amazed disbelief, "Yes."

Merry shouted with excitement, clapped his hands and hugged his cousin tightly. "I'm so happy for you and Diamond!" he cried out.

The Ring had been his fate and its silent whisperings had been the voices of his doom – or so he had thought.

Whispers had been his constant companions since the beginning of the journey, and at the end they had become unbearably loud, reaching him even in the darkness of his dreams. He loathed the voices in his head, the voices of the Ring, but they were his doom.

He had thought they would never end their seductive calls and yet, here upon a hill in the midst of ruin, death and fire the voices had ceased to be. There was nothing but silence for him in the end – nothing but the peace he had longed for. Not even the rumblings and moans of the shaking earth beneath him met his ears as he fell, his maimed hand still resting in the hand of his dearest friend.

Title: Precious Bundle
Rating: G

Special Thanks to shirebound for beta reading.

~*~*~

Merry knelt on the floor, his hands resting on his cousin's knees so that he could have a proper look at the youngest member of the Took-family who was contently sleeping in Frodo's arms. "Are we going to keep him?" he asked doubtfully, wrinkling his nose.

"Of course we are. Uncle Paladin would never give away his son. He's waited so long for a son to take over his place as Thain one day." Frodo gently caressed the baby's cheek.

Merry watched him, frowning. "We can't give him back then?"

"Why should we want to do that?"

"Because he smells!"

No question, but a statement; doubtful eyes search mine. I don't answer at once, and yet I see your face change. Doubt turns into hope, amazement into a silent question.

"It's as I said. I would like to adopt you, and bring you to Bag End to live, if that's what you also wish."

Slowly your smile returns and you fling your arms around me. "Tis more than I would dare to ask."

Pippin carefully reached out his hand but drew back just a moment before he touched his target. His mummy had told him not to annoy cousin Frodo but this was just too tempting a matter not to--

He clung to the table-leg to prevent his twitching fingers from reaching out again. It looked so pretty and downy. It even seemed to shine in the dim red glow of the fire. None of his breeches ever shone.

His cousin stretched his legs causing the soft brown fabric to brush Pippin’s shirt. The effort to keep his hands in place almost made him shake and his grip on the table-leg tightened.

But in the end temptation was too strong and Pippin gently brushed his fingers over Frodo’s breeches.

“What--” Frodo called out in surprise when he felt the unexpected touch and lifted the table-cloth. His eyes grew wide with wonder and he could not help chuckling at the sight of his young cousin carefully stroking his cheek along his breeches. He had his eyes closed and looked entirely pleased.

A joyful smile spread across the toddler’s face. “Fwo fuffy!” he declared, burying his nose in the soft fabric of Frodo’s breeches.

Gentle fingers on pale skin, brushing back dark hair. An almost tentative notion; heavy lids open to golden sunlight beholding a rueful smile on a shadowed face. The caresses of lush, green, grass on the sun warmed skin, the smell of flowers and herbs in his nose.

“What--?” The unasked question shows in confused eyes as fingers, still clumsy with sleep, close around the silken fabric of a black cloak covering his body.

“You fell asleep,” is the whispered reply. Another smile crosses the younger hobbit’s features and the silver tree embroidered on his breast reflects the golden sunlight.

Frodo groaned as Pippin intoned yet another one of Bilbo's songs. The young Took didn't have a bad singing voice, but after at least ten songs he had had enough -- and his cousin showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

"Pippin!" Frodo scolded and a cushion flew across the room, missing the younger hobbit by inches. The song was interrupted by giggles before it continued even louder.

Pulling the blanket over his head, Frodo tried to block out the noise that disturbed the silence within the Last Homely House and only peeked out when he heard Merry's voice next to the bed.

"Allow him to show his happiness," his cousin said quietly. "He's been worried for too long."

"If you bring him just a bit closer, he will worry no more," Frodo whispered conspiratorially making throttling movements.

"You'd miss him," Merry told him with a smile, but eyed the singing Took as if considering Frodo's suggestion.

"Certainly not!" Frodo declared matter-of-factly. "I'd savour the silence and the extra pieces of cake which will be left over with one hobbit less."

"Cake?" The singing stopped abruptly, and a pair of green eyes met the cousins -- who burst into laughter.

Sleeping faces glowing golden in the candlelight; their soft breathing in the peaceful silence.

Brown hair, fair as my own and eyes as blue as your mother's; your spirit so bright and your soul so kind. My Merry, my only son, I love you with all my heart.

And now another, so unlike myself, with his hair of ebony and looks so different from most Brandybucks. Boating and fishing are none to his liking, but mushrooms and tales certainly are. Mischief follows him with every move, and disputes with him are a strain... yet he has been a son to me ever since coming into my care. His soul is gentle, and I could not love him more.

With a kiss on their brows I hand them over to night-shadows' care. Merry, the child of my soul and Frodo, the son of my heart.

The alarm of the dragon's appearance vanished and Frodo felt his own heartbeat calm as well. Yet his eyes, brimmed with tears, remained fixed on the night sky. He could still see the sparkles, the light. Shimmering trees, glittering birds and butterflies, a world of a billion stars and more. Their sight had etched itself into his heart. Frodo could still feel their enchantment and perceive their awesome beauty. Gandalf had made a childhood wish come true, and for that he would be forever grateful to the old wizard.

Bilbo woke him from his trance and Frodo grabbed the two mugs he had been filling. Rushing to the table, he handed one mug to his uncle before raising his own.

"Remember tonight, Bilbo!" he cheered as he sat, his eyes mirroring the spectacle they had just witnessed. Yet they clouded as he took a careful sip, and a pained expression crept across his features. His hand reached out to touch the wrinkled one. Questioningly the dear face turned to him, but Frodo erased the worry he saw there with a heart-warming smile… although fleeting sadness, that would not yet linger, sank into his heart.

As he crossed the Field of Cormallen, Pippin felt as if his face might split in two. He could not help smiling. His heart was lighter than it had been in months and his steps were so easy, he might as well have danced over the soft, green grass.

Tents and men faded from his view as they were blurred by a veil of tears, and he stopped at last, mouthing the reason for his joy. "He's awake."

It was barely a whisper and yet, as if the very sound of his voice had finally convinced him of the truth, he broke into laughter as deep and clear as had not been heard on that meadow for many a long year.

"He's awake," he repeated louder, realising that Gondor's knights were glancing at him curiously.

You might be the last living being in this world and you wouldn’t even mind; not in this calm, this peace, this gentle song which is lulling you, cradling like the arms of a mother. You close your eyes and take a deep breath of the fresh, salty air. You could sit here for hours with the wind in your hair, and the sun tickling your skin; with nothing, but the cry of the seagulls and the rush of the waves; nothing, but placid serenity. And as you open your eyes you smile; here, by the shores of the sea.

Drabbles by Lily Dragonquill