Four Mornings in Winter

December 1421

Rosie gave her the fur-lined blanket on the evening of Yule, and she repeated her invitation once more.

“Come with me, Lily”, she said. “It makes me sad to think that you should spend this night alone.”

But Lily refused with a smile and when darkness fell she sat at the window of her bedroom, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the warm, soft fur gently tickling her chin. Midnight came close, and she heard the voices of the children, reddened faces with brilliant eyes in the light of the torches. Their high, clear voices were heralds of the new day, soothing the lingering fear in her heart.

He is safe, she whispered to herself. Frodo will heal. I have done the right thing. He will heal.

She sat there, eyes closed and both hands reaching out as if protecting a flickering flame of hope.

I know he will heal.