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Sep. 22nd, 2004 07:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanIorhael has the page up, and my story's been added too! The website is here and then click on the word Gift for the list, which has many wonderful stories in it.
Birthday
By rabidsamfan
Thanks to belegcuthalion and maripo5a for the beta and Gayalondiel for the Elvish.
When Drogo opened the door of the smial, Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh aloud, for his young cousin looked so exhausted and startled and smug that there was no question that it had been more than the rain which had kept him and Primula from coming up to Bag End for the party.
“Congratulations!” Bilbo cried, propping the basket he carried on one hip to free a hand. “A lad or a lass?”
“A lad,” Drogo said, accepting the handshake with a dazed air. “But how did you know? Mrs. Banks only left for home five minutes ago…”
“We didn’t,” Bilbo admitted, hefting the basket again and giving the new father a pointed look. “And we’d come back later, but as it’s raining…”
“Oh, come in,” Drogo said, backing out of the doorway to give them room. Bilbo wiped his feet on the mat and stepped inside quickly, giving Hamfast Gamgee plenty of room to follow with his awkward burden.
“I expect you’ve been too busy to eat,” Bilbo said. “But here’s a bit of luncheon.” He set the basket on the nearest table. “There’s a shepherds’ pie in here from Mistress Gamgee that ought to go into your warming oven before it cools any further, and some of the cake, as well as more practical things. You can thank Bell for those, too. She said Primula wasn’t likely to be comfortable standing over the cooking just now, and I told her to pack plenty.” He shook his hands to get some of the rain off and the circulation back. “It weighs enough.”
“Thank you,” Drogo said, collecting Bilbo’s cloak and looking from one visitor to the other with an air of bewilderment until Hamfast came and took it from him. “But shouldn’t you be at Bag End? For the party? If you made cake then someone must have turned up.”
“Oh, they won’t miss me for a while,” Bilbo said confidently. “The hobbits are in the parlor drinking and singing, the married lasses are in the kitchen drinking and washing the dishes and singing, the tweens are doing their best to make sure that none of the dishes will need washing by cleaning them with their tongues, and the little ones are playing catch-as-catch-can in the hallway. I’ve left Bell to guard the pantry and Dan Twofoot to watch over the wine cellar.”
“And that’s leaving the fox to guard the chickens, begging your pardon, sir,” Hamfast opined in a growl. He’d hung his own cloak and Bilbo’s by the fire. Now he bent over the large bulky package he’d carried in and drew his pocket knife to cut away a particularly obstreperous knot in the twine holding the oilcloth that covered it. “Still, he couldn’t have managed this with that broken arm still paining him.”
“What is that, anyway?” Drogo asked, distractedly.
“Oh, just some mathoms in honor of my birthday,” Bilbo reassured him. “Not that I thought you’d need them for two more weeks.” As he spoke, Hamfast managed to undo the tangle. The oilcloth fell away to reveal a beautiful cradle bed made of dark brown wood inlaid with patterns of flowers in other colors of wood and small bright stones. Bilbo laughed outright when Drogo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“It’s… It’s… But…Lobelia said it wasn’t usable; that’s why she’d left it in storage. Mitt Tunnelly was going to lend us theirs. I’d made all the arrangements.”
“And I unmade ‘em,” Bilbo clapped him on the back. “Never you mind! Young Saradoc Brandybuck fetched it back from Hardbottle for me, and just in time, too. Why that cradle’s been rocking Baggins babies for nigh on a hundred years, and it’s in fine shape to rock them for a hundred more.”
“Three sacks of taters we set in it, sir, and both my lads have had a go,” Hamfast said, polishing a few errant drops of rain away with his handkerchief. “Had to glue some of the bits of decoration home again, and replace a few as had been lost, but near as I can tell the rest was carved from a single block, and as good as the day it was made once we’d put a bit of polish on.” He lifted another bundle wrapped in another layer of oilcloth from the bed of the cradle. “This seems dry enough, Mr. Bilbo.”
“Ah. The birthday presents. Excellent.” Bilbo took the bundle. It was small only in comparison to the cradle, and filled both arms up to his chin.
Before Drogo had a chance to ask what was in it, a voice called his name from the next room. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Bilbo Baggins and Ham Gamgee,” Drogo said, going to the bedroom door and opening it enough to peek in. “They’ve brought us the Baggins cradle. And some food as well. Are you hungry, love?”
“A bit,” she said. “More thirsty, I think.”
“We’ll come back later, if you’d like,” Bilbo called, knowing that his presence might not be entirely welcome. Babes follow the first voices they hear, the gammers said, and some young mothers planned the baby’s first visitor as carefully as they planned a birthday party.
“Nonsense!” Primula called back. “Come in and say hello!”
Drogo threw the door wide and went to dip a glass of water from the bucket while Bilbo went over to look into the the darkened room. For want of a cradle they’d put the baby into a basket on the bed, and Primula was propped up next to it, still tired, but triumphant. “Are you sure you don’t want Hamfast to come in first?” he asked before he’d stepped past the lintel. “He’s far more respectable than I am.”
“Don’t be silly,” Primula laughed. “You first-footed Drogo, or so they warned me, and I like how he turned out well enough.”
Bilbo went on into the room and deposited his burden at the foot of the bed, going around to give his cousin-in-law a kiss on the cheek. “That’s all your influence, I’m afraid. He’s never been quite the same hobbit since he visited Buckland,” he teased gently.
“And he never would have visited Buckland if you hadn’t told him about the River,” Primula countered, just as she always did. Of all the wives and husbands that Bilbo’s young relations had brought home to Hobbiton and Bywater, Primula was his favorite, and he was pleased to see that motherhood had not damped the mischief in her eyes. “That’s not the cradle you’ve got wrapped in that bundle of yours is it? Drogo led me to believe that it’s quite magnificent.”
“I’ll bring it in here if you’d like, Missus Baggins,” Hamfast said from the doorway. “I think it will fit in the corner like, if I move that chair first. Or would you like it at the end of the bed?”
“In the corner, please,” Primula said, pushing up. “So what is in the bundle?”
Bilbo chuckled and brought it up to set it in her lap. “You can find out for yourself,” he said. “But don’t shake it up too much. It’s fragile.” He had to get up and get out of the way so that Hamfast could move the chair and wound up on the other side of the bed, next to the basket. “May I?”
Primula, momentarily overwhelmed by the arrival of her husband with a glass of water on top of directing Hamfast and investigating the bundle in front of her, nodded permission, even though she kept a wary eye on her bachelor relation until he had collected the swaddled baby with all the practiced skill of an experienced uncle before turning back to the bundle in her lap.
Bilbo retreated into the newly positioned chair and settled down to look at the tiny hobbitling in his arms. You could never really tell what a newborn baby was going to look like when it grew older, but even in the crumpled newness of it, this one had a look that made think of the old stories about the faery wife. “Suilad, tithin min,” he said.*
The baby’s eyes opened and studied him with sleepy solemnity for a long moment before taking on the puzzled air that all babies seemed to have when studying the world. “Don’t know what to make of me, do you?” Bilbo asked it, ignoring the delighted exclamations from the bed as Primula and Drogo discovered the bottle of Old Winyards wrapped in the center of the fine new goosefeather bed. “Well I know what you are: another twelve-mile cousin come to plague me.” He reached into his pocket and found the silver rattle, bringing it out to shake gently before the baby’s eyes. “It won’t work you know,” he whispered. “You’ll have to bring me a present too.”
*Greetings, Little One**
**Edited to correct, since I went to the trouble to get the right words. *sigh* For being one of the few times I've got advice from Betas, this story has the worst track record of me posting it wrong...
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
Birthday
By rabidsamfan
Thanks to belegcuthalion and maripo5a for the beta and Gayalondiel for the Elvish.
When Drogo opened the door of the smial, Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh aloud, for his young cousin looked so exhausted and startled and smug that there was no question that it had been more than the rain which had kept him and Primula from coming up to Bag End for the party.
“Congratulations!” Bilbo cried, propping the basket he carried on one hip to free a hand. “A lad or a lass?”
“A lad,” Drogo said, accepting the handshake with a dazed air. “But how did you know? Mrs. Banks only left for home five minutes ago…”
“We didn’t,” Bilbo admitted, hefting the basket again and giving the new father a pointed look. “And we’d come back later, but as it’s raining…”
“Oh, come in,” Drogo said, backing out of the doorway to give them room. Bilbo wiped his feet on the mat and stepped inside quickly, giving Hamfast Gamgee plenty of room to follow with his awkward burden.
“I expect you’ve been too busy to eat,” Bilbo said. “But here’s a bit of luncheon.” He set the basket on the nearest table. “There’s a shepherds’ pie in here from Mistress Gamgee that ought to go into your warming oven before it cools any further, and some of the cake, as well as more practical things. You can thank Bell for those, too. She said Primula wasn’t likely to be comfortable standing over the cooking just now, and I told her to pack plenty.” He shook his hands to get some of the rain off and the circulation back. “It weighs enough.”
“Thank you,” Drogo said, collecting Bilbo’s cloak and looking from one visitor to the other with an air of bewilderment until Hamfast came and took it from him. “But shouldn’t you be at Bag End? For the party? If you made cake then someone must have turned up.”
“Oh, they won’t miss me for a while,” Bilbo said confidently. “The hobbits are in the parlor drinking and singing, the married lasses are in the kitchen drinking and washing the dishes and singing, the tweens are doing their best to make sure that none of the dishes will need washing by cleaning them with their tongues, and the little ones are playing catch-as-catch-can in the hallway. I’ve left Bell to guard the pantry and Dan Twofoot to watch over the wine cellar.”
“And that’s leaving the fox to guard the chickens, begging your pardon, sir,” Hamfast opined in a growl. He’d hung his own cloak and Bilbo’s by the fire. Now he bent over the large bulky package he’d carried in and drew his pocket knife to cut away a particularly obstreperous knot in the twine holding the oilcloth that covered it. “Still, he couldn’t have managed this with that broken arm still paining him.”
“What is that, anyway?” Drogo asked, distractedly.
“Oh, just some mathoms in honor of my birthday,” Bilbo reassured him. “Not that I thought you’d need them for two more weeks.” As he spoke, Hamfast managed to undo the tangle. The oilcloth fell away to reveal a beautiful cradle bed made of dark brown wood inlaid with patterns of flowers in other colors of wood and small bright stones. Bilbo laughed outright when Drogo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“It’s… It’s… But…Lobelia said it wasn’t usable; that’s why she’d left it in storage. Mitt Tunnelly was going to lend us theirs. I’d made all the arrangements.”
“And I unmade ‘em,” Bilbo clapped him on the back. “Never you mind! Young Saradoc Brandybuck fetched it back from Hardbottle for me, and just in time, too. Why that cradle’s been rocking Baggins babies for nigh on a hundred years, and it’s in fine shape to rock them for a hundred more.”
“Three sacks of taters we set in it, sir, and both my lads have had a go,” Hamfast said, polishing a few errant drops of rain away with his handkerchief. “Had to glue some of the bits of decoration home again, and replace a few as had been lost, but near as I can tell the rest was carved from a single block, and as good as the day it was made once we’d put a bit of polish on.” He lifted another bundle wrapped in another layer of oilcloth from the bed of the cradle. “This seems dry enough, Mr. Bilbo.”
“Ah. The birthday presents. Excellent.” Bilbo took the bundle. It was small only in comparison to the cradle, and filled both arms up to his chin.
Before Drogo had a chance to ask what was in it, a voice called his name from the next room. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Bilbo Baggins and Ham Gamgee,” Drogo said, going to the bedroom door and opening it enough to peek in. “They’ve brought us the Baggins cradle. And some food as well. Are you hungry, love?”
“A bit,” she said. “More thirsty, I think.”
“We’ll come back later, if you’d like,” Bilbo called, knowing that his presence might not be entirely welcome. Babes follow the first voices they hear, the gammers said, and some young mothers planned the baby’s first visitor as carefully as they planned a birthday party.
“Nonsense!” Primula called back. “Come in and say hello!”
Drogo threw the door wide and went to dip a glass of water from the bucket while Bilbo went over to look into the the darkened room. For want of a cradle they’d put the baby into a basket on the bed, and Primula was propped up next to it, still tired, but triumphant. “Are you sure you don’t want Hamfast to come in first?” he asked before he’d stepped past the lintel. “He’s far more respectable than I am.”
“Don’t be silly,” Primula laughed. “You first-footed Drogo, or so they warned me, and I like how he turned out well enough.”
Bilbo went on into the room and deposited his burden at the foot of the bed, going around to give his cousin-in-law a kiss on the cheek. “That’s all your influence, I’m afraid. He’s never been quite the same hobbit since he visited Buckland,” he teased gently.
“And he never would have visited Buckland if you hadn’t told him about the River,” Primula countered, just as she always did. Of all the wives and husbands that Bilbo’s young relations had brought home to Hobbiton and Bywater, Primula was his favorite, and he was pleased to see that motherhood had not damped the mischief in her eyes. “That’s not the cradle you’ve got wrapped in that bundle of yours is it? Drogo led me to believe that it’s quite magnificent.”
“I’ll bring it in here if you’d like, Missus Baggins,” Hamfast said from the doorway. “I think it will fit in the corner like, if I move that chair first. Or would you like it at the end of the bed?”
“In the corner, please,” Primula said, pushing up. “So what is in the bundle?”
Bilbo chuckled and brought it up to set it in her lap. “You can find out for yourself,” he said. “But don’t shake it up too much. It’s fragile.” He had to get up and get out of the way so that Hamfast could move the chair and wound up on the other side of the bed, next to the basket. “May I?”
Primula, momentarily overwhelmed by the arrival of her husband with a glass of water on top of directing Hamfast and investigating the bundle in front of her, nodded permission, even though she kept a wary eye on her bachelor relation until he had collected the swaddled baby with all the practiced skill of an experienced uncle before turning back to the bundle in her lap.
Bilbo retreated into the newly positioned chair and settled down to look at the tiny hobbitling in his arms. You could never really tell what a newborn baby was going to look like when it grew older, but even in the crumpled newness of it, this one had a look that made think of the old stories about the faery wife. “Suilad, tithin min,” he said.*
The baby’s eyes opened and studied him with sleepy solemnity for a long moment before taking on the puzzled air that all babies seemed to have when studying the world. “Don’t know what to make of me, do you?” Bilbo asked it, ignoring the delighted exclamations from the bed as Primula and Drogo discovered the bottle of Old Winyards wrapped in the center of the fine new goosefeather bed. “Well I know what you are: another twelve-mile cousin come to plague me.” He reached into his pocket and found the silver rattle, bringing it out to shake gently before the baby’s eyes. “It won’t work you know,” he whispered. “You’ll have to bring me a present too.”
*Greetings, Little One**
**Edited to correct, since I went to the trouble to get the right words. *sigh* For being one of the few times I've got advice from Betas, this story has the worst track record of me posting it wrong...
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-22 11:34 pm (UTC)Thank you for posting it :)
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-23 01:13 am (UTC)Ah, my. This foreshadowed truth twinged my heart in both good and bad ways.
Thanks for sharing a lovely story.
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Date: 2004-09-23 04:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-23 06:43 am (UTC)Ah, you're a genius.
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Date: 2004-09-23 12:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-23 01:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-23 05:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-10-24 04:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-19 05:58 pm (UTC)