Originally written for Marigold’s Challenge #27: The story had to include Earth, wind, rain, and fire and be set at dawn.

Disclaimer: The characters all belong to the amazing world of Middle-earth created by the genius of J.R.R. Tolkien. I just borrowed them for a little while. I also borrowed one line of text, which is in italics.

A/N: Thanks to Dreamflower for another splendid beta-read.

A Whisper From Across the Sea

When Frodo and Bilbo had first arrived on the western shores of the Sea in a grey Elven boat, the Elves had offered to build a place for them to live anywhere in the Undying Lands. The hobbits had gratefully accepted the offer, Frodo exploring the new lands with Lord Elrond and a small party of Elves in search of the perfect spot.

The mountains were covered with many paths that meandered across meadows and through thick green forests with lush moss floors. Each path presented a new and exciting adventure, and he wanted to try them all before he reported back to Bilbo. There were times when Frodo would explore his new surroundings, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Lord Elrond or Gandalf, who spent many an afternoon entertaining Frodo with tales of his many adventures. It was a delight to see such friendly woods teeming not only with Elves, but with birds and animals as well. Merry and Pippin’s friend, Treebeard, would probably enjoy these woods greatly, Frodo thought. The meadows were equally as beautiful as they stretched as far as the eye could see, soft green carpets dotted with unfamiliar flowers in all the hues of the rainbow, raising their faces to drink in the life promised them by the Sun.

Once Frodo had finished with his explorations, he reported back to Bilbo with his findings. Their discussion was not long, or so Frodo thought, for time had little meaning in this wonderful land to which he had been invited to live.

Despite his love of the pastoral meadows and lush forests in this new land, Frodo and Bilbo decided to make their new smial within walking distance of the sea. It was true that the Elven songs with their unmatched beauty were gently lifting away the pain and emptiness of soul that filled Frodo, leaving in its stead the stirrings of a contentment he had thought gone forever. However, they both knew that Frodo would never be able to heal totally until Sam had rejoined him. Frodo missed Merry and Pippin, too, but he and Sam had been through so much pain and anguish together that now Frodo wished to be there to greet Sam when Sam’s turn came to heal the hurts the Shire could not heal. And so he and Bilbo decided that until Sam joined them, they must live by the shores on which they had first arrived. Together, Frodo and Sam would both find their true peace.

But until that day came, Lord Elrond had found the perfect location for Frodo and Bilbo to live on one side of a verdant mountain that rose above the shore. Not only were there trails leading into the pinewoods and across the meadows, but there was also a path leading down to the shore. It was the perfect location.

Here, in the cosy smial built into the side of the mountain rising above the shore, Frodo was enjoying a life that was becoming more and more free of all cares and burdens with each passing day. He and Bilbo enjoyed themselves immensely on this new adventure, sometimes gathering wood for the fire or berries for elevenses or mushrooms to accompany any meal and sometimes joining the Elves in song and feast. But at night when Frodo drifted off to sleep, he was oft times lulled by the gentle lapping of the Sea as it met the earth and danced along the shore as waves below him, wrapping him in a profound serenity.

The Sun was still asleep when Frodo awoke unusually early on a cool morning in what Frodo knew must be spring, though he knew not how many years had passed since he first arrived on these shores. It was still chilly in the room as he dressed, trying not to awaken Bilbo. As he walked across the smooth earthen floor to the hearth to stoke the cooling embers back to life, Frodo noted that the air was more humid than usual, with thick curtains of mist hanging outside the window - probably a result of last night’s rain. After a little while, the room was cosily warm and so was Frodo as he set about making himself a light first breakfast of toast and gooseberry jam.

By the time he had finished eating, the first pale lights of dawn were peeping above the horizon, providing just enough light so that a lantern was unnecessary as he walked down the mountain. The grass was still moist with the morning dew that tickled the bottoms of his feet, a sensation he had always enjoyed, even along the banks of the Brandywine River as a lad. As the mountain levelled out before him, the faint light had grown to a beautiful shade of pink that softly illuminated the friendly shores of Tol Eressea that had welcomed him at his time of need.

He breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp salty air that was slowly blowing life back into his body. He never tired of gazing at the High Sea, with its powerful waves breaking upon the shore and spilling onto his bare feet as it was doing now.

But this morning, Frodo’s vision of the Sea was not as peaceful as it normally was. For in his heart, Frodo knew that those he loved back in the Shire had suffered a long and difficult night with little rest. There had been tears in that rain last night. He had felt them in the black mist and shadows of his slumber as readily as if the suffering were a part of his own essence.

Frodo closed his eyes and sighed heavily. As he thought of his dearest loved ones left behind, between his fingers he rolled the dark aggie marble Pippin had given him a few months before he left the Shire. This was the only difficult part of being here - being separated from those whom he cherished most. Sam, Merry, and Pippin…they would always be a part of him and he had to find some way to help them now, especially his dear cousins, whom he would never again see within the circles of the world.

When Frodo opened his eyes once more and looked across the shimmering High Sea to the East, he felt a soft wind stir about him, whipping through his dark curls as it caressed his face. With a faint smile, he drew a fresh breath and filled it with the warmth of all of his love for those closest to his heart back in the Shire. As he exhaled, Frodo’s breath was carried away on the strong wind across the Sea.

The wind blew quickly across the High Sea, as if in haste to reach the Eastern shores. It crashed onto the shores in a large gust and continued on its way through the land of the little folk, where it came upon a hobbit in the early dawn hours as he tended a lone Mallorn tree in Hobbiton.

Samwise Gamgee was right troubled this morning as he tamped down the moist rich earth over the roots of the Mallorn tree. For Sam, getting his hands in the soil to help the Shire’s living things grow was the best way for him to work through anything that was troubling him. While his Rosie had slept contentedly next to him last night, he had lain awake in anguish, fretting over how Mr. Merry was making out since it was his turn for the nightmares last night. He knew from personal experience just how bad those nightmares could be. And if Mr. Merry’s nightmares were half as bad as his own were … It had been a long night as Sam had listened to the sky above weep its tears and knew what it meant. It was unnatural. Mr. Merry didn’t deserve to have such pain. Neither did Mr. Pippin. Nor Lady Galadriel’s tree that she had entrusted to the care of the Shirefolk.

The tree … now that was something he could do something about. Now that the long cold winter was over, Sam had to make sure that this promising start of leaves and golden blossoms continued all spring and summer long, carpeting the whole of the Shire with its tranquil beauty. This tree was a gift from the Lady Galadriel and no sad rain, nor exposed roots neither, was going to hurt it, not if Samwise Gamgee had anything to say about it. He carelessly brushed a stray lock of his windblown curls away from his eyes. At least the rain would help nurture the Lady Galadriel’s Mallorn tree. That and the warm light of the sun… that’s all that the Lady’s tree needed. Sam looked up at the tree’s branches and watched as the strong wind blew the leaves and blossoms about, making them sway to and fro.

As he did so, he began to sing a little song that came to him on the wind:

A whisper from across the Sea,
To keep united you and me,
A breeze upon the early dawn,
A cool spring day is less forlorn.

The song warmed him and a fresh sense of determination grew inside of Sam as he felt the fresh air of the breeze blowing about him, bringing the sweet scent of the blossoms to him. There might be naught Sam could do for Mr. Merry from Hobbiton, but he could make sure this tree’s fragrant blossoms were alive and able to work their Elven charms the next time Mr. Merry saw it. Those blossoms were as golden as the liquid fire of the sun ever was and smelled sweeter than any store bought scent. With love and fresh resolution, Sam placed his hands in the rich earth again and continued to tend his Mallorn tree with renewed vigour.

Above him, the breeze picked up again and blew the golden blossoms away from the tree, carrying them toward the East. The wind breathed more gently as it crossed the Brandywine into Buckland. In the chill hours of early dawn, it found an open window at Brandy Hall where the new Master of Buckland wrestled with recurring nightmares.

Along with darkness, last night had brought with it the worst of Merry Brandybuck’s night terrors. While Merry had these nightmares from time to time throughout the year, they always haunted him on the ides of Rethe more than at any other time. And this year, it was far worse than any of the previous years.

For not only was this the first year that Merry had spent this night away from Pippin, but Merry was also still in the throes of anguish over his father’s death. Estella watched her husband as his mind wrestled with the shadows of the past. Although it pained her to admit, she was glad that Saradoc was not there to see the agony his son was going through this time.

The evil dreams were always the same … watching helplessly as Pippin’s mind was assaulted by the Palantir and then as Gandalf rode off with a frightened Pippin to a place that Merry could not follow … being abandoned as the rest of the Fellowship left, leaving him behind as useless unwanted baggage…

But those were not even the worst of his dreams on this particular night. For this was the anniversary of the battle at Pelennor Fields, and so Merry’s mind was consumed by reliving his desperate ride with the Rohirrim … the clash of battle alongside Théoden, his beloved king … watching as Théoden was slain on the field of Pelennor and as his shield sister, Éowyn, was severely injured by the Witch King… and of his own fight with the Witch King and dim and fearful wanderings in the Black Breath’s cold grip and shadow afterwards in the Houses of Healing.

Merry’s arm felt so cold, colder than the frostiest of winters. He thrashed about restlessly in the throes of nightmare … the memory of being reunited with his Pippin again only to learn that Pippin was leaving him again to march to an all but certain death, watching helplessly as Frodo, Pippin, and Sam all were gravely injured, clinging to life for days that were as endless as the lifespan of an Elf… Pippin had needed him, trusted him to always be there for him … he should have been there to help Frodo, to protect him. Frodo needed him and he had not been there for him... Frodo … he had failed his Frodo … and now Frodo was gone where Merry would never be able to follow ever again.

Merry had wept for hours in anguish during the starless night, Estella at his side. His tears had been so plentiful that Estella scarcely knew whether the sound she had heard was the night’s rain or her husband’s pain-filled sobs. All the while, she had held his ice-cold arm, trying desperately to warm it with bricks heated in the fire of the earthen hearth she kept roaring throughout the night.

As the mist of the night’s darkness gave way to the light of dawn, Estella rose to place another log on the fire in an effort to coax more heat and life into the room … and into her husband. Though the rain had now stopped, Merry’s whimpers of anguish continued to ring in Estella’s ears. Pained creases lined Merry’s face and the skin around his hollowed eyes was dark with despair.

The fire had brought some measure of warmth to Merry, but not enough. Through his fits in the darkness of his dreams, Merry felt hollow, as though a part of him was missing and he’d never be whole again. He was sweating, gasping for air, grasping for something … someone … Frodo …his Frodo who had always been there for him … Frodo had been taken from him, beyond his protection…

The light of the Sun was growing stronger, brightening the room even as it showed more clearly the pain on Merry’s face. Estella stepped over to the window and opened it wider, trying to coax any bit of air into the room to ease Merry’s breathing. A refreshing breeze entered the bedchamber, bringing with it a soft floral fragrance. It curled around Merry, blanketing him in crisp air that promised a refreshing breath to all who allowed its powerful love to penetrate them. Merry took a deep breath and shuddered, exhaling some of the stale, poisoned air from his system as he inhaled the clean, pure breath brought on the wind. His breathing immediately began to relax and the troubled lines on his face to ease. His heavy heart embraced a familiar presence in the wind.

Though still cold, Estella could now feel the stirrings of warmth returning to Merry’s arm as she watched his chest rise and fall with less difficulty. She left the window wide open, allowing her husband to drink in the softly floral fresh air so full of hope and promise.

The breeze continued to filter over Merry even as it persisted on its Eastern course to Crickhollow, where another hobbit had stayed up all night in a chair listening to the gloomy rain and staring at the once roaring fire that had now died down to cooling embers.

The month of Rethe was always bad for Peregrin Took ever since the Quest. However, this year, the first year he would not be spending Rethe with Merry, the two of them battling through their nightmares together, had proven worse, especially on this night, the anniversary of Merry’s attack.

Pippin had been unable to rid his mind of his unsettling thoughts all night. With Diamond sick in bed with a spring fever, Pippin had been watching two-year-old Faramir (usually called “Fair-lad”) as he played before the earthen fireplace. Shortly before Fair-lad’s bedtime, Pippin turned his back on his son but for a moment to find the lad’s favourite toy, a fluffy stuffed lamb covered in wool from Pippin’s mother and father.

When Pippin had returned from the kitchen, stuffed lamb in hand, it was to the alarming sight of little Fair-lad reaching out with his tiny fingers to touch the fire burning in the fireplace. It was his worst nightmare realised. Ever since witnessing Lord Denethor’s funeral pyre in Minas Tirith, Pippin had been afraid of fire and its raw power to consume flesh. While he had been able to master his fears so that ordinary uses of fire such as for cooking or warmth no longer bothered him, it was when he gazed into a fire’s depths that the shadows of the past haunted him still. And now to see his son, barely a faunt, reach out to touch those dangerous flames …

Pippin blanched whiter than he ever had before. Not even when he had seen Lord Denethor trying to burn his own son alive had Pippin been so terrified. Fear paralysed him for an instant before he found his voice and shrieked Faramir’s name wildly. His heart leapt into his throat as he ran as quickly as he could to the hearth and seized his son away from the bright flames. Pippin had barely rescued his son in time.

The lad sobbed as Pippin rapidly checked him to make sure he had not burnt himself. He had not, and the danger had been averted. But Pippin was so badly shaken that all he could do was hug his dear little son tightly to his chest and rock back and forth, his eyes closed against the inescapable visions of his son being burnt to death upon Lord Denethor’s funeral pyre. There was a cacophony of sound in Pippin’s ears – Fair-lad’s wails, his own heart beating so loudly that it seemed about to burst, his ragged breaths, the pouring rain beating down around him... Sweat poured down his face as he gasped for the breath that had been taken away from him in his fear for his son.

At last, Pippin had managed to calm both his son and himself down enough to put the lad to sleep for the night. But there was no sleep for Pippin. He sat up all night before the fire, gazing at its blue-white depths as they sizzled and burnt anything they touched. The acrid smell of the smoke burned in his nostrils, triggering images of both Faramirs, of Gondor and of the Shire, being set ablaze on Lord Denethor’s funeral pyre…Fair-lad… his own son… And then those thoughts were joined by the memory of Lord Denethor burning on the pyre, the Palantir still firmly grasped in his hands. The flames engulfed all three of them, Lord Denethor and Lord Faramir shrieking out in pain while little Fair-lad shouted in vain for Pippin and Diamond.

The dark thoughts stayed with Pippin all night, burning with horrible clarity before his mind’s eye until they chilled him to the bone as the fire cooled in the advancing hours of the starless night. They had all died and it was his fault. If he had only got there a little sooner, both Faramirs would not have died. If he had thought to tell his lord Denethor about the Seeing Stones, warn him how dangerous they were and that Sauron was using them to control his thoughts, then Lord Denethor would not have taken his own life. Why had Pippin looked into the Palantir to begin with? Fool of a Took! That’s what Gandalf had called him …Sauron’s evil thoughts imposing themselves in Pippin’s mind, compelling him to see his worst nightmares as Sauron interrogated him against his will. I am a hobbit!

Pippin’s breath hitched in his throat, his heart pulsing furiously at the memories. His mind would never truly be rid of Sauron’s thoughts. If he hadn’t looked, then Gandalf would not have been forced to take him to Minas Tirith for his own safety. It was all Pippin’s fault that Merry was left alone without any other hobbits to love and protect him. He had abandoned his Merry, just as he had allowed Boromir to die trying to save Merry and him from the orcs. If he had been a better soldier, mayhap Boromir would still be alive today …perhaps he and Merry would never have been captured by those orcs in the first place. I am a hobbit! Merry had been injured … that scar on his forehead… it was all Pippin’s fault.

Merry!

How Pippin longed for his Merry this night. Merry, his dear cousin …If Pippin hadn’t looked into that Palantir, he would have been there with Merry and Merry never would have gone off with the Rohirrim to fight in the Pelennor Fields, never would have raised his sword against the Witch King. The black breath never would have almost killed his Merry. And what had Pippin done once he saw that Merry would live but was seriously injured? He had abandoned him yet again to go off to fight before the Black Gate, leaving Merry alone to worry about him. Just as he had left Fair-lad alone, unattended. His own sweet little son! Merry and Fair-lad had both reached out to certain death, Merry to the poisonous black breath and Faramir to the burning flames. Pippin was a horrible father and a horrible cousin to both Merry and Frodo. Frodo! Where was he when his cousin had almost lost his life in the fires of Mount Doom? Why hadn’t he protected him better at Weathertop from that foul black breath of the Black Riders? He had allowed Frodo to go off to Mordor without him, with nobody but poor Sam, allowed Sauron’s thoughts to force their way into Frodo’s mind and injure him so badly that he could not find solace in the Shire and had to leave.

Pippin wept with bitter tears of grief. As dawn’s first lights began to shine through the windows of the little house, Pippin’s thoughts were not only upon Fair-lad, Lord Faramir, and Lord Denethor, but also centred on the cruel nightmares that he knew Merry was suffering that night, much as Frodo had gone through his own nightmares on his own anniversary date. He wondered if Frodo were still plagued by those nightmares, now that he had left them and the Shire behind and gone beyond the sea to the Undying Lands.
A fragrant breeze wafted through the windows and toward the hearth, sparking the faint glow of life that still lay hidden within the embers. The crackling of the smouldering embers startled Pippin out of his dark despair. With a jolt, Pippin gasped sharply as he started in his chair, looking all about him as if he had suddenly awakened from a bad dream. He peered out the window and breathed a bit easier. The round clear droplets from the fallen rain were shining brightly upon the softly moving green blades of grass in the earth, nurturing all things living…earth, wind, rain, and fire…all essential nourishment.

When Pippin looked back inside at the dim little house around him, he noticed for the first time that the fire had died down, much as his own hopes and determination had during the night. He rekindled the flame until its soft glow wrapped him in its warmth. Pippin stared at it for a moment, recalling his last thoughts of Frodo's nightmares. Frodo wasn’t here anymore, he was beyond the Grey Havens and Pippin would never know if his cousin was at peace.

With a sigh, Pippin walked to the front door and stepped over the threshold into the warm sunshine, his feet planted firmly upon the rich Shire soil. It was a new day full of hope and promise. The clean earthy scent of flowers met him, inviting him to breathe deeply the fresh air upon the wind. As Pippin turned his face up to the air, the soft breeze rose again, swirling around him and upon his face until it enveloped him, filling his ears with an echo of the Sea. There was a note of familiarity to this breeze. Pippin knew it, knew what it meant. The four of them were forever bound together, linked by their common experience and by their love for one another. Frodo had found his solace across the High Sea and suffered no more. He, Merry, and Sam all remained behind to help each other through their nightmares, to help each other heal, brought together in this by their undying love for Frodo and his undying love for them.

With dawning recognition, Pippin smiled peacefully and whispered, "Thank you, Frodo."