Chapter Text
“Frodo?”
The whisper broke gently into Frodo’s sleep, much like a bubble rising to the surface of a pond. It bobbed along, so softly that it seemed quite in danger of having no notice taken of it at all—before a repeated whisper brought it more forcefully to attention.
“Frodo?”
Frodo stirred. He was warm, and drowsy, and he really didn’t wish to wake right now.
Thunder rumbled sharply and the voice cried “Frodo!”
And Frodo peeled open his eyes just in time to catch a younger hobbit scrambling into the bed. Frodo was bounced and jostled and he took an elbow to the ribs with a sharp grunt before he could pull his way free of his bedclothes enough to make room.
The head of light curls burrowed into the bed beside him, hands clutching at Frodo’s nightshirt.
Frodo pushed himself up, rubbing at an eye. “Pippin?” His voice came out raspy from sleep.
The tweenage hobbit peered up from beside him.
Frodo’s brows knit together as he gained enough lucidity to work out his surroundings: the wide bed and dark room around him, the rain pattering against the windowpanes and pounding the earth on the hillside above, the occasional flicker of lightning that illuminated the room. His eyes returned to Pippin and his lips quirked up in fond understanding. Resting back on one elbow, he placed a hand upon his young cousin’s curls and ruffled them gently.
“Not still scared of storms, are you, Pippin, my lad?”
Pippin’s eyebrows scrunched. “Well—well, no, of course not,” he said earnestly. “Except, er—excepting, this one’s quite bad, you know. And I—and I thought you wouldn’t quite like to be alone in it. Now that Bilbo’s gone, er—away, and all.”
He looked satisfied with his excuse, and Frodo’s expression grew even more fondly amused. “Dear Pippin,” he said, shaking his head and settling back down onto his pillows. He shifted a bit, facing his young friend. “And you thought of me in the middle of it all, did you?”
“Well, of course,” Pippin said. “I couldn’t think of you alone in a storm like this, now could I?”
As he spoke, another streak of lightning flashed through the window. Pippin flinched and huddled closer to Frodo, squeezing his eyes shut when the thunder rumbled louder and closer than before.
Frodo curled around his cousin, holding him close, gently stroking at his curls until the noise died. “You were good to think of me,” he agreed softly, then. “I was indeed missing Bilbo tonight.”
And though he knew Pippin was old enough to know that neither of them were actually fooling the other, he could also tell the thought still put him a little more at ease. Pippin relaxed slightly and then shuffled to rest his head more comfortably against Frodo’s arm. Frodo shifted, tucking him close.
Pippin took a deep breath, and let it out.
The rain pounded harder against the window, and Frodo thought of the tiny, delicately pink flowers Sam had planted along the walk that morning. Usually his plants made it through storms all right, but he couldn’t imagine those fresh, fragile things would.
He listened to the heavy rush and thought of nights alone in Brandy Hall, even in the midst of so many Brandybucks, listening to the pouring rain and distant thunder, and only wishing for someone’s arms around him. Then similar storms soon after removing to Bag End, and the first time he had felt the courage to creep into Bilbo’s room for comfort.
Pippin really hadn’t been far off when he’d suggested how Frodo might be feeling in a night like tonight.
He was glad he had his friends staying with him for the week. Merry and Pippin had been in Hobbiton helping him clean out a few of Bilbo’s old mathoms (there really were far too many, even for a hobbit), and Sam had been staying the nights too, for the company of it.
Now, tucked against Frodo’s side, Pippin’s breaths were growing steadier.
But just as he had begun to think there was hope of Pippin sleeping, the air sizzled with a loud snap in time with a bright flash, and an immediate, crashing BOOM!
Pippin jolted upright, and so did Frodo. The whole smial seemed to shake with the residual rumbles. That sounded as if it could have struck right out in the garden!
Throwing the covers back, Frodo swung out of bed and hurried to the window, peering out in all directions he could see.
“What was that?” Pippin asked, scrambling to free himself of the sheets as well. “What did it hit?”
Behind Frodo, two sets of pattering feet came running into the room. One of them hurried up to peer out at his shoulder.
There was no sign of immediate danger or damage. All Frodo could really see was the pouring rain, and only the faint outline of his garden gate through it. Frodo sighed and turned around to find Sam beside him, unlit candelabra in hand, and Merry and Pippin standing behind them near the bed.
“It looks all right,” Frodo said.
“There’s naught to be seen for what it hit,” Sam said, still peering out. “Oh, I hope it weren’t the big elm across the way. That’s been standin’ there since ‘afore my Gaffer was born, it has.” He turned to face Frodo. “D’you think I ought to go out and check on it? Oh, I’m afraid I ought. If it isn’t the elm, it could be the ash—”
“No, Sam,” Frodo interjected with a hand on his arm. “I really think you oughtn’t. The trees will be alright until morning.” Then he took in the candlestick in Sam’s hands and his lips tugged upward. “What, were you hoping to clobber the lightning with that?”
Sam glanced at it embarrassedly and lowered it. “Well, you know. I was—I weren’t really thinkin, I suppose. I just heard the noise, and—”
But Frodo only smiled, reassuring and incredibly fond. “I know, Sam. Protection is a good instinct to have.”
Over beside the bed, Merry’s head was cocked at Pippin and he seemed to be trying to mouth a question or some such. Pippin shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, looking around the room instead of at his friend.
“Let us all get back to bed,” Frodo said. “There isn’t a fire, at least, and any damage shouldn’t be worse tomorrow.”
They all nodded a little and looked around at each other standing there in their nightshirts. Sam was the first to start hesitantly toward the door. Merry looked again towards Pippin, and Pippin glanced uncertainly at Frodo.
“Actually,” Frodo said, getting the cue, and Sam immediately paused. “Why don’t—… well. I hate to ask. But—would you all be willing to stay the night here with me? I mean to say, in my bed? It’s quite wide enough, I should think. You see—Bilbo and I made a bit of a habit of such arrangements when storms like this came. And I’m afraid I—I haven’t quite got used to going it without him, in that instance.”
“Why, of course, Frodo!” Merry exclaimed. “No need to ask us twice! You don’t think we’ve forgotten your bed has got the best feathers?”
And with that, he launched himself right on in.
Sam looked less certain, but Frodo knew from the fidget of his hands that the reluctance came only from the habit of his station.
“Come, Sam,” Frodo said. “Please; it will really be a great comfort to me.”
“Well, alright,” Sam said. “But please don’t mind if I snore.”
Frodo laughed and looked at Pippin, who appeared greatly relieved and began to climb in beside Merry. Frodo then crawled in beside Pippin, and after setting the candlestick on the bedside table, Sam came in next to Frodo.
There was a good deal of fidgeting and squirming at first as the hobbits tried to arrange themselves without anybody’s elbow in anyone else’s rib, and nobody’s shoulders clashing, and everyone with the right amount of blanket or pillow. But finally they were reasonably well settled, and Frodo found Pippin’s head again tucked in the crook of his arm. Sam’s head was very much in danger of resting against his shoulder on the other side, and Merry was pressed near Pippin. And all in all Frodo felt quite warm and content.
But the rain was still battering at the window, and then the room lit up for a brief moment and Pippin squeezed his eyes shut again. Thunder followed quickly and Pippin shuddered when it boomed, grasping Frodo’s sleeve. Sam flinched too, on Frodo’s other side.
Frodo tilted his head against Pippin’s curls, holding him closer, and his other hand found Sam’s to give it a pat.
Sam gave a quick squeeze of appreciation.
And a gentle melody from one of Bilbo’s walking songs slipped into Frodo’s mind. He wasn’t sure why it should be a walking-song, when what they were trying to do was sleep—but it was comforting enough, he supposed.
Under the continuing sound of the rain, he began quietly, slowly—softly, to sing.
Home is behind, the world ahead.
And there are many paths to tread.
Frodo’s voice was still husky with sleep, but the others didn’t seem to mind. Pippin nestled a little closer and Sam heaved a great sigh. Merry was watching Frodo across Pippin’s curls.
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
All shall fade, All shall fade.
Long after the last note had died, Frodo looked around to see the other three hobbits slipped into peaceful slumber. Merry’s eyes were closed and his breaths were deep. The tension had leaked from Pippin’s shoulders; his lips moved and he gave a little sigh. Faint snores came every now and again from Sam, whose head had come to rest decidedly against Frodo’s shoulder.
Frodo couldn’t help a smile. What hobbit could ask for three better friends?
“Good night, dear ones,” he murmured, and let his eyes slip shut.
And the patter of the rain sang him to sleep.