The faint silvery light of a sickle moon threw blue-grey shadows over Frodo's skin as he crept down the hall, silent as he could manage. His hands were shaking, a tremble that became almost nothing in daylight, went away close to entirely when he laughed or smiled. But this late, in the quiet, his palms were clammy and his bones shivered with old tensions.
Usually when rest eluded him, Frodo read a little by candle light, or sat by a window and watched the Shire slumber on outside. On his way to the haphazard pile of half-finished books in the corner, he paused, noticing a flicker of firelight from the kitchen.
Rosie sat, breathing softly in her sleep, in front of the lit stove, Elanor burbling happily to herself in the cradle of her mother's arms. Seeing Frodo in the doorway, the baby squealed happily, reaching her chubby fingers out towards him.
"Shh, little one, don't wake your mother," Frodo whispered, picking her up carefully and leaving Rosie to rest in the warmth. "Come watch the night with me."
Elanor squealed again, reaching out to grab at the fine chain around Frodo's neck and pulling on his hair instead.
"Ouch! Well, you've got your father's strength, that's for sure."
Her tiny fingers closed over his, patting at the scarred stump that was yet to fade from pink to white, wide infant eyes looking up at him as if to question where his finger was hiding.
"I gave it up, little flower. I gave it up for you, and for your father, and your mother, and all the other hobbits, and the Men and the Elves and Dwarfs. And most of them will never know any of it, but I'm glad of that," he sighed. "One day, you'll be grown enough to dance and laugh, and Sam can teach you to read and write, and you can make a beautiful story for yourself."
Elanor patted the corner of Frodo's absent-minded frown until he smiled again, bouncing her on his thin hip as he settled down in the rocking chair overlooking the garden. Her tiny eyes closed, her gummy mouth yawning widely as she drifted off.
"I gave up so much, but it was worth the price," the hobbit holding her gently whispered as she slept. "No ring in the world is more powerful than you are, Elanor. I hope you know that all of your days."
None of them had moved when Sam woke up shortly before dawn, smiling at the sight of the rest of his household curled in chairs, the warmth in the stove little more than a memory, and the early sunlight chasing the blue-grey dark away with bright gold.
Carefully, so as not to rouse them, Sam carried them one by one to their beds, Rosie and Elanor and Frodo, kissing their foreheads gently as he laid them down, as if he could somehow protect them in their dreaming.
~