A/N: In October, I asked readers of my LiveJournal to provide a sentence that I would use to begin a story. This story is composed of five snippets from certain points in Frodo's life, all beginning with the sentence provided by frolijahfan54 of LJ.
Bilbo woke abruptly to the sound of sobs from Frodo's room. He quickly rose and pulled on the dressing gown hanging on the door as he stepped into the hall. He met Primula outside Frodo's door, and coaxed her into letting him see to the young lad. When he was certain Primula was going to go back to bed -she had been so tired lately- he quietly slipped into Frodo's room. The eight-year-old was huddled under the covers, sobbing piteously. Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Frodo's back. "What's the matter, lad? Did you have a bad dream?"
Frodo nodded. "Mama and Papa got eated by a dragon," he said miserably. Bilbo was grateful Primula wasn't present -she would kill him for having told Frodo a story about Smaug the dragon before bed.
"There now," Bilbo soothed, "There aren't any more dragons in Middle-Earth. Your parents are safe."
"Promise?" Frodo sniffled.
"I promise," Bilbo assured him. Frodo's sobs abated and it wasn't long before soft snores replaced them. Bilbo watched him fondly for a while to be sure he slept soundly before returning to his own bed.
Bilbo woke abruptly to the sound of sobs from Frodo's room. He must have fallen asleep in the chair... he hurried from his seat by the fire in the small private parlor to Frodo's room, the second of two bedrooms in the small suite occupied by the Buckland Bagginses. Except now there was only one Buckland Baggins, and Bilbo knew without a doubt that was the source of the sobs.
Indeed, Frodo was sitting up in bed, hugging his knees to his chest with his face hidden behind his arms, rocking slightly and weeping as one who had lost everything. Bilbo silently sat next to him, rubbing his back in an effort to assure him someone was there, but Frodo did not acknowledge his presence. The lad felt unusually warm through his nightshirt, and Bilbo recalled what Esmeralda had said earlier that day at the farewell feast about their fears that he was becoming more ill from being caught out in the same storm that took his parents -he'd certainly caught a chill that day, but he wasn't getting better despite it having been the better part of a week.
Eventually the sobs lessened as Frodo became too exhausted to continue. Bilbo urged him to lie down, and tucked the covers around the unresponsive figure, Frodo's eyes open, but unseeing. Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed, holding one of Frodo's hands, until the lad fell into a restless sleep. There Bilbo stayed for some hours, watching over his small charge, vowing that he would see Frodo through this, come what may.
Bilbo woke abruptly to the sound of sobs from Frodo's room. He went as quickly as he was able, but Sam was one step ahead of him by the time he reached the door. Sam quickly clambered onto the bed and began soothing his master, who lay twisted in the sheet, panting heavily from what Bilbo could only assume was a nightmare. Bilbo climbed into his chair beside the bed and patted Frodo's closest hand as Sam gently roused him from the dream. Gradually Frodo's eyes opened, his cheeks damp with tears, and he recognized them. "I saw them," he whispered wildly. "I saw them and they were chasing me. I was so afraid."
"They're gone now," Sam reminded him. "Remember? Lord Elrond and Gandalf had the river wash them away."
"I know, but I could feel them, feel the fear they are cloaked with . . . " Frodo said, his eyes wide, trembling.
"You're safe, my dear boy," Bilbo said reassuringly. "They can't hurt you any more."
"Listen to Mr. Bilbo now, Mr. Frodo. The Riders are gone, we're here, and there isn't anything that can hurt you here in Lord Elrond's house."
"I know, it's just . . . the memory is very real and becomes more so in sleep," Frodo said hoarsely, wiping his face with a shaking hand.
"Try to sleep; we'll stay here and make sure you're all right," Sam said with a glance at Bilbo.
"Yes, we'll be right here," Bilbo assured Frodo. "Sleep, my boy. We'll keep the dreams away."
"I will try," Frodo said faintly, then closed his eyes.
Bilbo and Sam remained thus, each one holding one of Frodo's hands, for the rest of the night.
Bilbo woke abruptly to the sound of sobs from Frodo's room. Or at least, that's what he thought he heard -he sometimes thought he heard something when there was nothing there. Old age had its tricks. Still, perhaps he ought to check . . .
He stiffly rose from the bed and hobbled from the room, leaning heavily on his cane. When he finally reached Frodo's room -just two doors down, yet it seemed so far!- he hesitated outside the door, straining to hear any sounds from within. He thought he heard Frodo's hiccuping sobs and Sam's murmured reassurances.
Bilbo ventured a little closer, peering into the room through the small crack left by the nearly-closed door. Yes, Frodo's face was wet with tears, and his four-fingered hand was clutching Sam's sleeve as a drowning hobbit would cling to a piece of driftwood. Sam was bent over him, whispering reassurances into his ear as he gently, tenderly touched Frodo's face, arm, shoulder, trying to bring him back to the present from the dark memory of the Black Land.
Bilbo turned away. There was nothing he could offer that Sam couldn't.
Bilbo woke abruptly to the sound of sobs from Frodo's room. He carefully climbed out of his high-sided bed and gingerly navigated to his door and out into the hallway -his legs weren't used to the boat's rocking just yet. He pushed open Frodo's door; his nephew was curled up in his bed, his sobs now only whimpers, and was murmuring something to himself. Bilbo went to him and shook his shoulder gently. "Frodo, wake up. You're dreaming."
Frodo quieted and blinked groggily, squinting in the light of the candle ensconced next to the door. "Sam?" he croaked.
"No my lad, it's your uncle Bilbo," he replied. "We are on the ship West, remember?"
"Bilbo," Frodo said with a sigh. "Yes, I remember. It's just . . ."
"You miss him," Bilbo said simply.
"Yes," Frodo said mournfully. He was quiet for several moments, then he asked in a whisper, "Did I do the right thing? Should I have stayed in the Shire?"
Bilbo rubbed Frodo's shoulder consolingly. At length, he said, "I don't know."
"I don't know either," Frodo murmured. "I'm not certain I'll ever know."
"I think you will," Bilbo said confidently. "But try not to think about it now and sleep. It's still the middle of the night."
"I'll try." He turned to glance at Bilbo. "Thank you."
"You're more than welcome, my boy," Bilbo said with one last pat.