Lullaby

By: Elemmírë

Series: Lord of the Rings 9/26/05

Summary: Esmeralda is awoken one night by a disgruntled Merry. Merry is one, Frodo is not quite 15 yet (ages 8 months and 8½ in Man years).

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Esmeralda Brandybuck awoke startled from what had been a very sound sleep; she heard crying coming from the room next door. She groaned, shaking her sleeping husband beside her. “Sara, wake up … Merry’s crying … it’s your turn.” Their one-year old son had been moved recently from the basinet located by their bedside to his new crib in his own room.

The future Master of Buckland continued to snore and Merry continued to cry.

During her pregnancy, the older hobbit ladies of Buckland had been quick to advise her that too much coddling was no good for either the infant or the parents. Esmeralda had learned very quickly when her newborn son required his parents’ attention and subsequently when he did not. As Merry’s crying intensified, her sleep-addled mind realized that now was not one of the times to ignore him. She was so very tired though.

Esmeralda shook her sleeping husband harder. “Saradoc, your son is crying! Wake up!”

Saradoc mumbled something unintelligible and then proceeded to roll over, taking the covers with him. He remained blissfully asleep while Merry’s wailing grew louder by the second.

“Oh, sticklebacks!” Esmeralda muttered, getting out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown that hung ready on the bedpost.

Merry was positively screeching now and Esmeralda was sure he would wake up all of Buckland with his clamor. “Hush sweet-pea, Mama’s coming,” she whispered, fumbling in her worry to light the oil lamp in the dark. Did he need to be changed? He couldn’t possibly still be hungry after the last meal he had so greedily consumed from her breast. Was something wrong? Was he sick or hurt?

Finally, the lamp lit up. Was it her imagination or did she hear more noise being added to the din?

Esmeralda left her bedroom and walked the short distance to her son’s room. As she approached the round doorway to his room, she could make out the distinctive sound of somebody singing. After a moment, Merry’s high-pitched cries dwindled down and Esmeralda could hear the voice of her teenaged nephew, Frodo. He was singing softly to his cousin.

Esmeralda sighed. She had been hoping that Merry’s cries wouldn’t awaken Frodo. It was nearing the anniversary of his parents’ tragic deaths and the poor lad hadn’t been sleeping well as of late--as seemed to be his usual wont during this time of the year. The same thing happened to him ever since the first anniversary of Drogo and Primula Baggins’ passing. It was now nearly three years later.

Esmeralda remembered that first anniversary vividly. As the sorrowful day had neared, Frodo’s melancholy had grown immensely and his nightmares had returned. He barely ate and he had refused to take anything that might help him to sleep more peacefully. By the day of the actual anniversary, young Frodo had become so exhausted and cranky from lack of sleep that she and Saradoc, who had both agreed to foster the orphan, were forced to sneak a potent sleeping draught into the irritable lad’s milk one night at supper. Frodo had ended up falling asleep in his picked-at supper and Saradoc had had to carry the slight lad off to bed. The then nearly thirteen-year old hobbit had slept for almost two days straight afterward.

When he had finally awoke, the refreshed Frodo had been very confused when he discovered it was now Mersday morning instead of Trewsday morning. Needless to say, he had made a tremendous amount of fuss about being slipped a sleeping draught and the subsequent gap in his memory. Saradoc had explained that they, as Frodo's guardians, were exercising their rightful authority. He apologized for not telling Frodo of the sleeping draught, but the lad had been so very cranky that they both had known Frodo would not listen to reason even if they had told him of it and would have refused to have drunk his milk that night. Saradoc and Esme had tried to make the young hobbit understand that he had been on the verge of collapse and they had been very concerned for his health and well-being. The ever independent Frodo had been very reluctant to see reason, however.

The nightmares returned in full force a year later when the second-year anniversary neared and Frodo had again refused anything to help him sleep. He ate his dinners warily, even after having diligently watched them being prepared in front of him. Frodo was reassured and promised that nothing would be slipped into his food again without his consent, but if he ever felt he needed the sleeping draught, he only need ask. Determined, Frodo made it through the nightmares and otherwise sleepless nights, only to ask Esmeralda one night for a dose of the draught. That night had been the actual anniversary of his parents' deaths itself and the lad had cried himself to sleep, curled up in Esmeralda's lap while poor Saradoc had looked on, helpless to ease Frodo's anguish.

With the addition of Merry to the small family, things appeared to be a little better this year. The baby gave Frodo something else to focus on other than his own misery; whenever he was around Merry, the lad seemed to brighten up considerably. Esmeralda, however, could now recognize the tell-tale signs of Frodo’s increasing sadness and she could see that he was beginning to repeat the same pattern of exhaustion and sleepless nights. The addition of a crying infant wasn’t going to help him any.

She stood in the doorway to Merry’s room and saw Frodo’s small, spare frame outlined by the soft, glowing light from the hearth. He was standing on a footstool, overlooking the high wooden rails of the baby’s crib. In the clear, sweet voice that nearly all Bagginses were blessed with, Frodo was singing a lullaby.

Esmeralda smiled, recognizing the song; it had been handed down throughout many generations of the Baggins family. She recalled first hearing Drogo sing it to Frodo when he was an infant. He must have sang it to his beloved son as a faunt and child also for the lad seemed to know the song well, the words and tune slipping effortlessly from his lips. Listening to Frodo sing, Esmeralda thought the lullaby sounded more haunted and sad than she remembered originally.

Merry, however, was enraptured and his crying, red face slowly relaxed into a toothless smile. He began to gurgle and blow bubbles at his older cousin, waving his chubby little arms around in the air.

Esmeralda continued to watch the scene unobserved as Frodo stood on his tip-toes, reached over the high rails, and carefully picked up her son. He continued to sing softly while walking around, occasionally bouncing Merry upon his hip.

Esmeralda stifled a giggle as she watched her son’s tiny fingers latch onto a handful of Frodo’s beautiful dark curls, refusing to let go. Frodo patiently extracted his hair from his young cousin’s strong grasp, substituting his own finger instead, all the while continuing to sing his lullaby.

When the song ended finally, Esmeralda had every intention of going into the room to settle Merry back into his crib and Frodo into his own bed, but she stopped short.

Frodo had climbed into the large wooden rocking chair by the window, his furry feet not able to touch the floor yet. He cradled Merry to him and spoke in his quiet, soothing voice. “Shhh, Merry-love. There’s no need to cry so. You’ll wake everyone up and your mum and dad need their rest.”

Merry smiled again and began to babble, clapping his little hands together in glee at the mention of his mum and dad.

Frodo smiled back, bouncing the babe once more. “That’s right, little one. There’s no need … for both your parents are here and they love you very, very much …. I love you too, Merry-lad.”

Esmeralda listened as Frodo continued to talk. “I wonder what woke you so? Was it a bad dream? Are you able to have bad dreams yet? … I hope not …. I hope you never have bad dreams, Merry, for I have bad dreams and I don’t like them …. I should thank you though, for your crying woke me up from one. I was having an awful dream about my parents and the river ….”

Esmeralda remained silent by the doorway as Frodo told Merry about his bad dreams, about his parents and how much he missed them, and how much the loss of them still hurt as if the tragedy had happened only yesterday.

“I want what you have, Merry …. it’s not that I don’t love your parents, but it’s not the same …. I want my own Mama and Da … I want them back ….” She heard him whisper in a voice choked with love and sorrow. It broke her heart to hear him speak so longingly for what they both knew he could never have, ever again.

Thoroughly soothed by Frodo’s calming voice and sad litany, Merry blinked his eyes repeatedly and then seemingly fell asleep. Frodo cradled the baby closer to him, his own tears falling now and he pressed his little nose into Merry’s downy cinnamon curls, inhaling deeply the fresh smell that only babes possess.

He curled his legs up onto the seat of the rocker, eventually falling asleep himself, Merry held securely in his embrace. Only then did Esmeralda walk into the room, silent as only a hobbit can be. Her oil lamp had long since burned out and now the early rays of morning sunlight were beginning to creep over the hills of the Shire and Buckland. Dawn had arrived and the birds could be heard chirping their own songs outside.

As only a mother can, she unfolded a thick yellow blanket over her lads, tucking the corners in around Frodo’s thin frame. She ruffled his hair gently, whispering her love for him into one delicately pointed ear. She crossed the room again and closed the door, hoping they would both sleep peacefully at least until second breakfast. Esmeralda shook her head and smiled, hearing Saradoc’s oblivious snoring next door.

~The End~

*Much thanks and grateful appreciation goes to Queen Galadriel for graciously providing me with the lyrics to Frodo's lullaby, which she penned herself.