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rabidsamfanever have a piece of fluff that wrote itself for forty minutes and then absolutely and utterly refused to tell you what comes next?
Well...
For the purposes of this story, take a 7 to 11 ratio in human to hobbit ages. So Frodo at almost 20 is equivalent to 12 and 9 months, and Sam at 7and a half is similar to 4 and 9 months.
[working title: The Visitor]
“I’ve got a delivery here, for Mr. Bilbo Baggins,” announced the elderly hobbit from the high seat on the cart, and Bilbo abandoned his page of calculations gleefully.
“Something for me?” he asked, bringing his hands together with delight.
“Well in a way it is,” said a shy voice, and his 19 year old cousin appeared from among the baskets of cabbage. “I’m three days early for our party, Uncle Bilbo, do you mind?”
“Frodo!” Bilbo grabbed the lad and swung him down from the cart to give him a good hug. “How wonderful! But where’s your Aunt Esmeralda?”
“She couldn’t come,” Frodo said, hugging him back and looking up with shining eyes. “Cousin Merry has a dreadful cold. And Uncle Saradoc said that I was big enough to come alone this year if Master Bumbleroot looked after me on the way, and I’d get here just as fast as a letter would so I came. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least,” Bilbo reassured him with another hug before setting him at arms length for inspection. “I don’t see enough of you to keep track of the changes. You look like you’ve grown a full inch since last year!”
“Almost two,” Frodo said, straightening proudly and fingercombing his hair into order. He’d lost more of his baby roundness since Bilbo had seen him last and was beginning to show signs of the hobbit he’d grow into in his graceful cheekbones and solemn smile.
Bilbo ruffled up his hair again to make him grin. “You look more like your mother every year, lad,” he said fondly. “Now, where are your things? I hope you remembered to bring your birthday presents?”
“You mean you hope I remembered to bring your birthday present, don’t you?” Frodo asked cheekily, relaxing in the warmth of Bilbo’s teasing. “It’s in the trunk along with the rest of my things. I even made something for Cousin Otho, because Auntie said that I couldn’t get away with giving him onions every year, even if I have grown them myself.”
“What did you make him then?” Bilbo asked, curiously, as he found the end of Frodo’s trunk on the cart and gave it a tug.
“A drawing. And I dare say he’d rather have the onions,” Frodo answered, cheerfully, taking the other end of the trunk. It was almost too heavy for him, but he managed to get it to the ground without dropping it on his or Bilbo’s toes.
“And are you giving rocks to the rest of your twelve-mile cousins then?” Bilbo asked.
“No, most of them are getting things from my part of the garden,” Frodo said, climbing back into the wagon to find the basket of produce he’d brought to give away. “Isn’t it nice having a birthday that falls at harvest, Uncle Bilbo? You can give people such lovely presents when everything is ripe.”
“You can indeed,” Bilbo laughed as Frodo burrowed back into the recesses of the cart.
“What’s all this, Mr. Bilbo?” Hamfast Gamgee appeared from the lower garden, wearing his best jacket and a fresh white shirt. “Did you not remember the day?”
“Master Gamgee!” Frodo came up like a jack-in-the-box. “Is Hal with you? Are we going to get to make pickles again this year? I brought some cucumbers. I grew them myself.”
The frown on Hamfast’s face vanished into a wrinkled smile. “Master Frodo! A pleasure to see you, lad. I’m afraid Hal’s gone off as apprentice to Farmer Cotton’s cousin up in Oatbarton. He won’t be along home till Yule.”
Frodo’s face fell. “But I brought him a present and everything. And he was going to take me to the Three Farthing Stone this year.”
“Well, perhaps you can visit at Yule,” Bilbo offered, “You’ve not had a Hobbiton Yule in a long time.”
“I guess that’s all right then,” Frodo decided. “Why are you all dressed up, Master Gamgee?”
“Well, we were going along to Bywater on party business, Master Frodo,” the old gardener said, glancing at Bilbo.
“And we still are,” Bilbo said. “You can come along with us, or stay here. Which shall it be?”
“I’ve been traveling forever, it feels like,” Frodo said. “I’d rather stay, if that’s all right with you.”
“All right then,” Bilbo said, tousling his hair one more time with a grin. “You can keep an eye on things for me.”
****
Frodo had arranged his books on the table by the bed to his satisfaction, and was contemplating tackling the wad of clothing at the bottom of his trunk when a head appeared above his windowsill. "Oh, Master Frodo! Have you seen Samwise or Marigold?"
"No I haven't, Daisy," Frodo said, going to the window. "Have you lost them?"
"Yes," she said unhappily. "And I was meant to be minding them, too, but Mam took a bad turn, and by the time I got her settled and all with May, they'd gone. I was hoping they might have come up the Hill to look for Dad, but I don't see him neither."
"He and Uncle Bilbo went off to Bywater on business," Frodo said, frowning. "And the Rumbles have gone to see their new granddaughter. I met them going the other way yesterday morning. Is Daddy Twofoot home?"
"He's gone to get the doctor for Mam," Daisy said. "Oh, I wish Hal and Ham were home." She was almost in tears, and Frodo couldn't blame her. With her older brothers apprenticed off, she'd become the oldest of the Gamgee children at home, and with every adult on the hill otherwise occupied, he was the closest thing to a grown-up she could find without going down to the village.
"Well, they can't have got far.” Not if they were together, at any rate. Samwise was getting big enough to walk down to the Water without tiring, but Marigold had only just mastered staying upright the last time he’d visited, and must still spend as much time on hands-and-knees as she did on her feet. “I'll come help look, shall I?"
"Oh, please," Daisy said.
"Don't worry, they're probably just looking for something to eat. Did you check in the kitchen? That's where we always have to look when my cousin Merry goes missing."
“Well, they’re not in our kitchen,” she said, uncertainly.
“Then let’s try Uncle Bilbo’s,” Frodo opened the window wider and offered her a hand through, not seeing any reason why she should have to go around to the front door. She scrambled in, catching her foot in her skirt, and they both landed in a tangled heap on the floor. Daisy didn’t mind, but Frodo found himself feeling a little breathless at the sudden discovery that girls were not just soft boys. He laughed and tucked his hands in his pockets to hide his nervousness as she dusted herself off and rearranged her clothes.
“I hope they’re here,” she said, starting for the door. “Sam! Mari!”
Frodo followed hastily. Not that he needed to show her the way. The Gamgee children knew Bag End better than he did, having come to help their mother clean and cook since they were small. He’d come with his own mother and father when he was small, too, but only to visit for a few hours at a time. These days he never visited more than once or twice a year, and even though he stayed longer, it wasn’t the same as being able to be here all the time.
“SAM!” Daisy’s screech of terror as she looked through the kitchen door brought Frodo out of his thoughts and he pushed past her just in time to get underneath the small hobbit who had climbed up the pantry shelves. Samwise, startled by the shout, let go of the cookie jar and covered his ears – unfortunately letting go of the shelf at the same time.
Shelf, Sam, cookie jar, and five jars of jam descended on Frodo all in a bunch, and he landed on the floor for the second time in five minutes, this time with his arms full of small hobbit and a stinging knot of pain over his left eye where one of the jars had ricocheted. He lay there and tried to think whether the ringing in his head was louder than the wails of Sam and Marigold and the frantic questions from Daisy.
“I’m all right,” he said after the lights stopped dancing behind his eyes, hoping that would quiet Daisy at least. He patted the small person in his arms on the back. “It’s all right, Sam. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“My fingers hurt!” Sam wailed, “Ow, ow, ow!”
Frodo pushed himself up carefully, using the cupboard doors as a backrest while he adjusted Sam into a better positon. “Here, let me see.”
Sam displayed his left hand, quieting a little as he leaned against Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo could see bruises already starting to blossom under a curved red mark across the back of his fingers. “That does look sore, Sam. We should put some ice on it,” he said, thinking of his Aunt Esme’s favorite cure for bruises. “Daisy, do you know if there’s any ice left in the ice house?”
“It’s for the party,” she protested.
“Well I need some, and so does Sam. Go and fetch it will you?” He smiled at her wincingly. “I’ll make it right with Uncle Bilbo.”
“What about Mari?” she asked, looking across the kitchen to the sticky baby who was still squalling unhappily in the middle of an assortment of bowls and plates.
“Sam and I’ll take care of her,” Frodo said. “Won’t we, Sam?”
Sam sniffled and nodded. “Big’uns take care of little’uns,” he agreed, snuggling closer to Frodo.
“Well, all right,” Daisy said. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” She vanished into the hallway.
Frodo patted Sam’s back again, “Is that what you were doing? Taking care of the baby?”
“She’s hungry,” Sam agreed. He turned his hand to look at it. “Ow, ow, ow,” he said mournfully.
“Well she can’t be hungry still,” Frodo said, looking at the damage she’d done to the bread and cheese and other things Sam had given her.
“She’s always hungry,” Sam sighed. He studied Frodo’s face with a little frown. “You’ve got an ouch on your face.”
“Don’t touch it,” Frodo warned, when it looked like Sam was going to. “I’ll put ice on it, the same as we’ll put on your hand, and it will feel better.”
Sam considered this. “If we put ice on Mari will she feel better too?”
Frodo laughed. “I don’t think so. What usually makes her feel better?”
“Food,” Sam said decisively. “And hugs. And singing songs – do you know any songs?”
“I know lots of songs,” Frodo said, trying to think of songs he’d learned when he was small, and that Merry loved to hear now. “Do you know the song about the letters of the alphabet?”
“No,” Sam said. “Sing it.” And then, as if he’d just remembered his manners. “Please?”
“A for the apple red and bright,
B for the bed where I sleep at night,
C for the cat who stalks the mouse,
D for the dog who guards the house…”
Frodo sang and as he sang Marigold stopped crying and crawled over, sitting beside him with her fingers in her mouth and listening with large eyes. When he finished Sam said, “Again!” so he sang it through again, and again, until the baby’s eyes had drifted closed and Sam had learned enough of the words to try to sing along -- although he wasn’t always singing very clearly around his yawns.
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
Well...
For the purposes of this story, take a 7 to 11 ratio in human to hobbit ages. So Frodo at almost 20 is equivalent to 12 and 9 months, and Sam at 7and a half is similar to 4 and 9 months.
[working title: The Visitor]
“I’ve got a delivery here, for Mr. Bilbo Baggins,” announced the elderly hobbit from the high seat on the cart, and Bilbo abandoned his page of calculations gleefully.
“Something for me?” he asked, bringing his hands together with delight.
“Well in a way it is,” said a shy voice, and his 19 year old cousin appeared from among the baskets of cabbage. “I’m three days early for our party, Uncle Bilbo, do you mind?”
“Frodo!” Bilbo grabbed the lad and swung him down from the cart to give him a good hug. “How wonderful! But where’s your Aunt Esmeralda?”
“She couldn’t come,” Frodo said, hugging him back and looking up with shining eyes. “Cousin Merry has a dreadful cold. And Uncle Saradoc said that I was big enough to come alone this year if Master Bumbleroot looked after me on the way, and I’d get here just as fast as a letter would so I came. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least,” Bilbo reassured him with another hug before setting him at arms length for inspection. “I don’t see enough of you to keep track of the changes. You look like you’ve grown a full inch since last year!”
“Almost two,” Frodo said, straightening proudly and fingercombing his hair into order. He’d lost more of his baby roundness since Bilbo had seen him last and was beginning to show signs of the hobbit he’d grow into in his graceful cheekbones and solemn smile.
Bilbo ruffled up his hair again to make him grin. “You look more like your mother every year, lad,” he said fondly. “Now, where are your things? I hope you remembered to bring your birthday presents?”
“You mean you hope I remembered to bring your birthday present, don’t you?” Frodo asked cheekily, relaxing in the warmth of Bilbo’s teasing. “It’s in the trunk along with the rest of my things. I even made something for Cousin Otho, because Auntie said that I couldn’t get away with giving him onions every year, even if I have grown them myself.”
“What did you make him then?” Bilbo asked, curiously, as he found the end of Frodo’s trunk on the cart and gave it a tug.
“A drawing. And I dare say he’d rather have the onions,” Frodo answered, cheerfully, taking the other end of the trunk. It was almost too heavy for him, but he managed to get it to the ground without dropping it on his or Bilbo’s toes.
“And are you giving rocks to the rest of your twelve-mile cousins then?” Bilbo asked.
“No, most of them are getting things from my part of the garden,” Frodo said, climbing back into the wagon to find the basket of produce he’d brought to give away. “Isn’t it nice having a birthday that falls at harvest, Uncle Bilbo? You can give people such lovely presents when everything is ripe.”
“You can indeed,” Bilbo laughed as Frodo burrowed back into the recesses of the cart.
“What’s all this, Mr. Bilbo?” Hamfast Gamgee appeared from the lower garden, wearing his best jacket and a fresh white shirt. “Did you not remember the day?”
“Master Gamgee!” Frodo came up like a jack-in-the-box. “Is Hal with you? Are we going to get to make pickles again this year? I brought some cucumbers. I grew them myself.”
The frown on Hamfast’s face vanished into a wrinkled smile. “Master Frodo! A pleasure to see you, lad. I’m afraid Hal’s gone off as apprentice to Farmer Cotton’s cousin up in Oatbarton. He won’t be along home till Yule.”
Frodo’s face fell. “But I brought him a present and everything. And he was going to take me to the Three Farthing Stone this year.”
“Well, perhaps you can visit at Yule,” Bilbo offered, “You’ve not had a Hobbiton Yule in a long time.”
“I guess that’s all right then,” Frodo decided. “Why are you all dressed up, Master Gamgee?”
“Well, we were going along to Bywater on party business, Master Frodo,” the old gardener said, glancing at Bilbo.
“And we still are,” Bilbo said. “You can come along with us, or stay here. Which shall it be?”
“I’ve been traveling forever, it feels like,” Frodo said. “I’d rather stay, if that’s all right with you.”
“All right then,” Bilbo said, tousling his hair one more time with a grin. “You can keep an eye on things for me.”
****
Frodo had arranged his books on the table by the bed to his satisfaction, and was contemplating tackling the wad of clothing at the bottom of his trunk when a head appeared above his windowsill. "Oh, Master Frodo! Have you seen Samwise or Marigold?"
"No I haven't, Daisy," Frodo said, going to the window. "Have you lost them?"
"Yes," she said unhappily. "And I was meant to be minding them, too, but Mam took a bad turn, and by the time I got her settled and all with May, they'd gone. I was hoping they might have come up the Hill to look for Dad, but I don't see him neither."
"He and Uncle Bilbo went off to Bywater on business," Frodo said, frowning. "And the Rumbles have gone to see their new granddaughter. I met them going the other way yesterday morning. Is Daddy Twofoot home?"
"He's gone to get the doctor for Mam," Daisy said. "Oh, I wish Hal and Ham were home." She was almost in tears, and Frodo couldn't blame her. With her older brothers apprenticed off, she'd become the oldest of the Gamgee children at home, and with every adult on the hill otherwise occupied, he was the closest thing to a grown-up she could find without going down to the village.
"Well, they can't have got far.” Not if they were together, at any rate. Samwise was getting big enough to walk down to the Water without tiring, but Marigold had only just mastered staying upright the last time he’d visited, and must still spend as much time on hands-and-knees as she did on her feet. “I'll come help look, shall I?"
"Oh, please," Daisy said.
"Don't worry, they're probably just looking for something to eat. Did you check in the kitchen? That's where we always have to look when my cousin Merry goes missing."
“Well, they’re not in our kitchen,” she said, uncertainly.
“Then let’s try Uncle Bilbo’s,” Frodo opened the window wider and offered her a hand through, not seeing any reason why she should have to go around to the front door. She scrambled in, catching her foot in her skirt, and they both landed in a tangled heap on the floor. Daisy didn’t mind, but Frodo found himself feeling a little breathless at the sudden discovery that girls were not just soft boys. He laughed and tucked his hands in his pockets to hide his nervousness as she dusted herself off and rearranged her clothes.
“I hope they’re here,” she said, starting for the door. “Sam! Mari!”
Frodo followed hastily. Not that he needed to show her the way. The Gamgee children knew Bag End better than he did, having come to help their mother clean and cook since they were small. He’d come with his own mother and father when he was small, too, but only to visit for a few hours at a time. These days he never visited more than once or twice a year, and even though he stayed longer, it wasn’t the same as being able to be here all the time.
“SAM!” Daisy’s screech of terror as she looked through the kitchen door brought Frodo out of his thoughts and he pushed past her just in time to get underneath the small hobbit who had climbed up the pantry shelves. Samwise, startled by the shout, let go of the cookie jar and covered his ears – unfortunately letting go of the shelf at the same time.
Shelf, Sam, cookie jar, and five jars of jam descended on Frodo all in a bunch, and he landed on the floor for the second time in five minutes, this time with his arms full of small hobbit and a stinging knot of pain over his left eye where one of the jars had ricocheted. He lay there and tried to think whether the ringing in his head was louder than the wails of Sam and Marigold and the frantic questions from Daisy.
“I’m all right,” he said after the lights stopped dancing behind his eyes, hoping that would quiet Daisy at least. He patted the small person in his arms on the back. “It’s all right, Sam. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“My fingers hurt!” Sam wailed, “Ow, ow, ow!”
Frodo pushed himself up carefully, using the cupboard doors as a backrest while he adjusted Sam into a better positon. “Here, let me see.”
Sam displayed his left hand, quieting a little as he leaned against Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo could see bruises already starting to blossom under a curved red mark across the back of his fingers. “That does look sore, Sam. We should put some ice on it,” he said, thinking of his Aunt Esme’s favorite cure for bruises. “Daisy, do you know if there’s any ice left in the ice house?”
“It’s for the party,” she protested.
“Well I need some, and so does Sam. Go and fetch it will you?” He smiled at her wincingly. “I’ll make it right with Uncle Bilbo.”
“What about Mari?” she asked, looking across the kitchen to the sticky baby who was still squalling unhappily in the middle of an assortment of bowls and plates.
“Sam and I’ll take care of her,” Frodo said. “Won’t we, Sam?”
Sam sniffled and nodded. “Big’uns take care of little’uns,” he agreed, snuggling closer to Frodo.
“Well, all right,” Daisy said. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” She vanished into the hallway.
Frodo patted Sam’s back again, “Is that what you were doing? Taking care of the baby?”
“She’s hungry,” Sam agreed. He turned his hand to look at it. “Ow, ow, ow,” he said mournfully.
“Well she can’t be hungry still,” Frodo said, looking at the damage she’d done to the bread and cheese and other things Sam had given her.
“She’s always hungry,” Sam sighed. He studied Frodo’s face with a little frown. “You’ve got an ouch on your face.”
“Don’t touch it,” Frodo warned, when it looked like Sam was going to. “I’ll put ice on it, the same as we’ll put on your hand, and it will feel better.”
Sam considered this. “If we put ice on Mari will she feel better too?”
Frodo laughed. “I don’t think so. What usually makes her feel better?”
“Food,” Sam said decisively. “And hugs. And singing songs – do you know any songs?”
“I know lots of songs,” Frodo said, trying to think of songs he’d learned when he was small, and that Merry loved to hear now. “Do you know the song about the letters of the alphabet?”
“No,” Sam said. “Sing it.” And then, as if he’d just remembered his manners. “Please?”
“A for the apple red and bright,
B for the bed where I sleep at night,
C for the cat who stalks the mouse,
D for the dog who guards the house…”
Frodo sang and as he sang Marigold stopped crying and crawled over, sitting beside him with her fingers in her mouth and listening with large eyes. When he finished Sam said, “Again!” so he sang it through again, and again, until the baby’s eyes had drifted closed and Sam had learned enough of the words to try to sing along -- although he wasn’t always singing very clearly around his yawns.
Timeline (fiction only, most recent version, includes AU) first previous next last
