"I won't."
Elanor's jaw was set, a rapid pulse ticking in her throat below her chin and eyes blazing.
"He's calling for you, El," pleaded Rose in a hushed voice, sitting beside her older sister in the hallway.
"So? He doesn't want me, in another minute he'll be asking for someone else, somebody who can't possibly go in like his Mam or Gandalf. Snakes and adders, I don't care if he screams all night."
Rose rolled her eyes. Elanor had the stubborness of both her parents in her blood, and the contraryness of her uncle learnt into her as well. Mum and Dad were having a holiday because they'd been ten years married, and Rose had leapt on the chance to play head of the house to her brothers and sisters, even if really Uncle Frodo was still in charge. El didn't have the knack of bossing folk like Rose did, which made Rose feel rather nice.
This wasn't one of Uncle Frodo's turns, Rose had seen a few of those and they were horrible but this was just the usual mutters and cries in his sleep. When Mum and Dad were home, they quietened him with kisses and cuddles, but now he was all shut up and alone in that big draughty room. Rose knew that not a single puff of air could infiltrate Bag End's bedrooms unless it was wanted, but somehow it seemed appropriate for cold wind to be creeping in.
"Why didn't he go with Mummy-Rose and Sam-Dad, anyway?" Elanor muttered, face draining colour as her uncle whimpered again. She wouldn't go in. She wouldn't.
"He likes them to have holidays from looking after him, though he'd never say so," explained Rose in a matter-of-fact voice. "You know that, El. Please stop being such a ninny and go in to him, he's crying for you."
"He's crying for a baby that's a grown up now. I'm not going in there," Elanor snapped. "He wouldn't know me from a troll at any rate, not when he's half-asleep like this." Standing, looked over at the closed door for a long pause and then shook her head. "No. I love him, Rose, you know I do. He's Fo. But he's not Fo right now, and he wouldn't care if I was El or not."
Elanor walked back to her bedroom, shoulders slumped in something between exhaustion and defeat. Rose sat by herself for a little while, until she heard another whimper from inside. Then she reached up for the doorknob (she was still too small to turn in with one hand, but she was shooting up like beans and corn and would be a big girl eventually) and padded inside.
"El?" Uncle Frodo asked in a fevery sort of voice.
"No, it's me, Rose," Rose felt a terrible wish to run away as she stepped closer to the bed. The room looked so looming and dark at night-time, and she wanted her own snug little blanket and felt oliphaunt toy and the sounds of her brothers and sisters asleep around her.
"Oh, Rose, I didn't mean to wake everyone up." Frodo sounded so apologetic, and Rose knew that Elly was wrong. He was Uncle Frodo, but he was an Uncle Frodo who was lost and needed a friend. Rose was a friendly sort of little girl, so everything would be all right now.
"You didn't, just me." It wasn't really a lie, because Elanor would be back to dreaming about Elves and wizards and sugar cookies by now.
"I just get confused, when your parents aren't here," he admitted in a sleepy ashamed voice. Rose clambered up onto the big chilly bed and burrowed down under the tangled covers.
"It's all right, I'm here now," she said in her best impression of her mother's comforting tone. "No need to worry," she told him with a pat on his cheek. Her palm felt the wet of salty tears, and Rose was very glad that she had been brave enough to come in.
Uncle Frodo chuckled, and planted a kiss on her cheek with lips that were as icy as Yule snow. Holding her shiver in, Rose threw her small chubby arms around his neck and kissed him back.
"Goodnight Uncle Frodo."
"Goodnight, sweet Rose."
~
Pretty Good Year | email Mary