Note: This story is written in the canon universe but the central relationship portrayed in it is not a conventional one. The original characters have been created from their names in the family trees. These chapters comprise the opening section of a larger work in progress.
x x x
Summer of 1380 - Buckland
Upon the grounds of Brandy Hall, on the banks of the river Brandywine, a large summer get-together hosted by the Brandybucks was winding down for the day, after a luncheon followed by games for the children. The afternoon had become a very warm one. The nursemaids and mothers were suckling their infants or putting the littlest down for their naps, wherever they might find a shady spot. Some found places under the trees. Others withdrew to the many porches and nooks in the ramble of interconnected holes that formed the Hall.
The older children who weren't still looking for play were feeling the lethargy of heat and still-full bellies. Frodo Baggins was one of these. Flinging themselves down here and there, they drowsed against free bosoms and nestled into the crooks of arms, making the mothers uncomfortable with their hot little bodies, damp from racing round and round the tables still set up under the trees.
The afternoon was rich, contented, drowsy. The sun was lower now, the scattered trees casting long shadows up the banked lawns that rose from the river's edge to the feet of the Hall. The light from the westering sun shimmered on the river's surface through the leaves. Rosamunda Bolger watched the light, sitting there propped against the bole of a great tree. She heard the drone of insects, the murmur of faltering conversation and the trailing off of stories, the sounds of other sleepers breathing and the soft suckling and fretting noises of babies being settled.
While his mother and father had gone off boating, Frodo had stayed upon the grounds to play with the other children. His parents had sought the cool and quiet that could be had beneath the willows that overhung the nearer shore. Such a clamour and a clatter did a Brandybuck luncheon make! Frodo would be fine, one lad among so many. Some peace – and privacy – might be theirs, if only for an hour or two.
Frodo, dreamy and sleepy, had nestled in beside Rosamunda next to baby Fredegar, who was still nursing. Freddy had been making her warm enough but now Frodo, tucked up tight against her, was making her sweat. She could feel the perspiration gathering at her temples and on the top of her lip and trickling down between her breasts. She wished she had a clean handkerchief to hand – Freddy had spoiled the one she'd had – so she used her sleeve. But she let the sleeping child be.
She did not really know this lad or his parents – not well – only as casual acquaintances distantly related whom she had seen several times at the Hall. She gazed down at him over Freddy's round head, as the baby finished up in stops and starts. The boy was breathing softly, his small chest rising and falling under his play-stained shirt. His eyes, beneath white lids delicately scrolled with faint blue veining, moved and slid beneath them in some dream-state, fanning the lash-wings over his cheeks. Pale he was – paler still against the darker dome of Freddy's head which, now he was sated, had lolled away from the breast. She thought him very beautiful.
And all around them recumbent children dozed.
Gazing down toward the river, trying to fend off sleep, she saw men with grave faces approaching, as if looking for something or someone. They were moving in her direction. They stopped before her, stared at the sleeping child and hesitated. Then one stooped over her to whisper the awful news: Dead. Drowned. Both.
Restraining a reflexive jolt, Rosamunda did not move but continued to stroke the damp hair from the sleeping child's forehead with a steady, soothing rhythm. Let him sleep for now. Greedy death can wait another hour.
x x x
1380 – 1389 - Buckland and Budgeford
In the ensuing days, by mutual consent little Frodo was left where he had become most comfortable, which was in the warmth of the Bolger circle: Rosamunda, Odovacar and baby Freddy. Odovacar was a tiny bit miffed at being landed with another child to claim yet more of his young wife's attention. But for the moment he beheld the three of them there, settled into the couch in the Bolger's guest room at the Hall. He warmed to the picture they made: the boy's eyes focused somewhere far off, his pale cheek flushed against the heat of his wife's side, her fingers threaded loosely through the orphan's looping curls while Freddy suckled, nestled in the crook of her other arm. Though it warmed him, Odovacar wished the boys away. They should engage a nurse. But Odovacar was a good-humoured, generous-spirited hobbit, able to put any pangs of displacement aside. After all, it was only temporary.
Arrangements were made for Frodo to stay on in Buckland, to be reared in the Brandybuck family as their ward unless another relative more suitable should come forward. But none did.
The Bolgers at last readied themselves to leave. They had made their general good-byes, but reserved an especially warm one for Frodo. As she bent to kiss him Rosamunda caught the wistful look in the boy's eyes. The baby began to fret so she straightened to quiet him. In between her soft cooings and cluckings she assured Frodo, "We shall see one another again soon, Frodo, you will see." Odovacar stooped down and gave him a smile and a friendly pat, adding, "That is so! We'll be back to visit in a month or two. In the meantime, you must come to visit us. Would you like that?"
Frodo shifted from foot to foot but a smile peeped out as he shyly answered, "Yes, thank you, sir – I should like that very much."
They might have lingered, standing there, but Freddy began to fret in earnest. With a wave and a smile, they walked away.
The Bolgers returned to their home in tiny Budgeford, about ten miles away on the western side of the Brandywine, up from Whitfurrows. Shady Bank it was called, dug into the steep-sloping north side of the Water. Snug and dry, it was nicely appointed. It was not a big place, but it suited a smaller family well. The gardens were poor, sadly, because of all the trees in which it was nearly hidden. But situated not far from the East Road and close to the Bridge, it was convenient for visiting to and fro.
x x x
After the time of his parents' drowning Frodo discovered a sensate comfort and pleasure in the company of the Bolgers which he found nowhere else. He did not confuse them with his parents, whom he continued to miss though less keenly as time passed. He was content to call them, "Auntie Rosa" and "Uncle Odo," though he knew they weren't. But they undoubtedly made him feel welcome in their midst. His artless enjoyment in their company and his unreserved appreciation endeared him to them in return.
While he lived in Buckland, Frodo visited the Bolgers at Shady Bank out of the bond that had been formed in just those few days following his parents' death, especially in the first few years. Brandybuck relations would bring him along when they paid a call in Budgeford. Rosamunda invited and encouraged Frodo to take part in the little family's life when he was there by helping – especially since her son was still too young to make him any sort of playfellow. But even when visitors brought other children along, Frodo usually preferred to be with Rosamunda and Freddy and later, Estella. She let him help care for the babies, which he enjoyed very much. He helped batheor and clothe them, gave them their food or saw to their amusementsWhen they became older, he might help with their lessons. He had no siblings of his own to care for. It was simply pleasurable to holdthe babies – and amusing.
When they returned to Budgeford after the drownings, the Bolgers did engage a nurse as Odovacar had wished. Although Rosamunda protested that she wanted to do it all herself, Pansy provided a welcome relief. A local woman whose own children were grown, Pansy had plenty of experience as well as earthy good-humour.
At the end of the spring, baby Freddy was almost a year old. Rosamunda prepared him for his bath while Pansy saw to the water and towels. Frodo was invited to help, too, which he was pleased to do. Rosamunda hoisted the big, naked baby onto a mat on the table.
"Now, you hold him steady, Frodo," she instructed. "Yes, just like that," she commended him as he stood earnestly by, holding the baby firmly. "We don't want him rolling off onto the floor, do we?"
She turned away to Pansy who was lifting the kettle of heated water, but upon her turning back, the sight of Frodo's shock and dismay, as a little yellow stream arched high into the air and onto his sleeve, almost undid her. Quickly she threw Frodo a towel. "Put this on top!" she managed to say, suppressing her mirth. But Pansy's mirth was not to be contained. The nurse laughed and snorted and sighed at the sight of Frodo's shocked face.
"It's not funny!" Frodo declared, taking umbrage. His face displayed the affront he felt.
"Oh, come, Frodo-lad!" Pansy guffawed between rills of mirth, "You made plenty of little fountains of your own when you were baby, I'll wager!"
Frodo turned his chagrined face to Rosa's, seeking support, but the sight of the corners of her mouth creeping up proved contagious. His mouth quivered; the frown became a smile which became a grin in swift succession, breaking forth into peals of laughter. Once the giggles had subsided, however, Rosa saw that Frodo continued to fret at his damp sleeve and sniff it suspiciously.
"Oh, give it to me, then," she relented, stripping it off him. "We'll rinse it out," she said and handed it to Pansy.
Frodo continued dutifully to hold the baby steady, while making sure the towel was firmly in place in case there should be any further waterworks. Although the weather outside was very fine, it must have been a bit chilly in the house. Frodo hadn't complained, but Rosamunda could see his white skin was stippled with goose pimples. From a stack of folded laundry, she snapped open one of Odovacar's shirts. "You'll not fit into anything of Freddy's! This will have to do, I'm afraid. Go ahead and put it on, Frodo."
Rosamunda lifted the baby into the basin so that Frodo was free to pull the shirt on, its sleeves and hem dangling nearly to the floor. He looked quite comical, but she restrained her mirth. Pansy managed with effort to follow the example of her mistress. Rosamunda glanced at him there, standing gravely by as she laved her son. Pansy did, too. But she beamed at him, saying, "I think you shall fill out a grown hobbit's shirt very nicely, Master Frodo, when you are grown!"
Frodo's cheeks pinked with pleasure and his little chest expanded, as if already imagining such a transformation. He decided he liked Pansy very much better! Then his attention returned to the source of his wetting and he gazed at the baby in the bath. He wondered if he had made a fountain on his mother's sleeve. A smile – but then a shadow – passed over his face. But only for a moment, as he returned his attention to Freddy in the basin, rapt in the sight of Rosamunda's hands moving over the body of her son, dark over light.
x x x
Rosamunda observed how well Frodo did with Freddy, as he did with Estella when she came. She thought he would make a fine father some day and told him so. These encouragements and shows of confidence always inspired in Frodo visible pleasure.
But all their visits were not spent indoors. With Pansy helping, Rosamunda again had time for long walks and talks and other pleasures. Odovacar was very glad he had insisted on securing her, if not for Rosa, then for himself. When Freddy began to run about, Pansy would take him out to play – and Frodo, too – if he was there. Odovacar would take his wife inside, to bed.
After those first few years, Frodo still came to Shady Bank though not as frequently. But he saw the Bolgers each time they visited in Buckland. It was far enough away for an overnight invitation to be very welcome, but close enough to make the journey a frequent one. The Bolgers came to all the large events. For the feasts of Yule and Lithe they did so, certainly, unless they went to Great Smials instead. They were visiting there when Frodo's uncle, Bilbo Baggins arrived for one of his brief but highly anticipated visits. Frodo appeared at the door of the guest quarters where the Bolgers were staying with Bilbo in tow.
Bilbo actually was Frodo's cousin, but very much removed in age. He enjoyed a very colourful reputation in the Shire, based upon his famous exploits in foreign parts some fifty years back. He was reputed to be nearly one hundred, but he appeared to be much younger. Some said his perennial youth was due the breath of the dragon he had faced down. Others said it was the dragon's treasure, exuding magical powers from within the cellars of his spacious hole in Hobbiton. There, at Bag End, he continued to live alone, a bachelor. But of these things none spoke openly; not in his presence, anyway. Rosamunda had been charmed by Bilbo and his tales since childhood, for he often had visited in Tookland. Odovacar knew him less well but warmed to the elder hobbit's lively manner. Pansy was too much in awe of Bilbo to feel quite comfortable in his presence.
Bursting in upon the Bolgers, Frodo rushed to display the wonder that he held: a real shell from the Sea.
"Gandalf brought it all the way from Rivendell! Lord Elrond sent it as a gift to Bilbo!" Frodo was relating what Bilbo told him as they had made their way together to the Bolger's rooms. "Bilbo says they have ever so many there! Some come all the way from Elvenhome across the Sea!" Frodo enthused breathlessly.
Bilbo, from behind his nephew added self-effacingly, "But this is not one of those, surely. This one comes from our Sea, near the Grey Havens, I should imagine. Still, it is a very beautiful gift – and beautifully meant."
"A memento for you, Bilbo, Gandalf said to Uncle," Frodo told them, referring to Bilbo as he spoke; "A token that you shall always be welcome!" Frodo turned then to the Bolgers and beamed, "Bilbo says I may keep it in my room while he is here!"
Bilbo smiled affectionately at his nephew's excitement. He had watched the way Frodo was drawn to the shell from first sight, admiring its beautiful form and colour as he handled it with reverent care. Brushing his small fingertips over its snowy sides to savour its fine softness, Frodo then ran them over the glossy places where it curled around and in. Bilbo could see the lad loved its colour, holding it up to the light and turning it to and fro. From purest white it changed to pink, then blushed to rose, stained deepest where it curved around and sank from sight. "Perhaps the Sea sound comes from just behind here," Frodo wondered aloud. But try as he might, Frodo could not reach far enough inside to touch the hidden chamber he imagined.
"I'm afraid there's nothing to touch, Frodo, my lad. There is no real inside, the way you are thinking of it." Bilbo told him this after watching several vain attempts. "I've seen one shorn in two. Its sides just wind round and round until they reach their own beginning. Like this – " Bilbo made a spiralling shape for Frodo in the air.
Frodo looked up and asked, "But where does the sound come from, then, Uncle?" Bilbo had confessed, "Alas, I do not know." Frodo did not appear truly satisfied.
Now, in the Bolger's midst, Frodo showed it round, letting each hold it in turn, cautioning them to be very careful. "Listen like this!" Frodo demonstrated, sliding the shell up under his hair and holding it over his ear. "There is a noise in it! Gandalf says it is very like the Sea!"
Each obliged, holding the shell as instructed to hear the sound, even Pansy. But when Estella, the baby, stretched out her little hands to grasp it, Frodo pulled it back. When she screwed up her face to wail, Rosamunda hastened to intervene, though gently.
"Perhaps, Frodo," she suggested diplomatically, "you might hold your hands under Estella's. That way you could be sure to catch the shell if she should let it go." Her face bore a look of reasoned entreaty. Frodo hesitated, his brows knitting in a thoughtful scowl. He could see they had braced themselves, waiting for Estella's storm to break.
Oh, very well. He would trust her.
"I suppose that will be all right," Frodo conceded. Around him he heard suppressed exhalations of relief. Frodo handed the shell to his uncle. Carefully spreading his fingers under Estella's, Frodo waited until Bilbo had placed the shell into the finger nest. Then, cupping his hands around the baby's, the treasure was finally shared without tumult.
x x x
At the Hall, the Brandybucks were very good to Frodo and he was grateful for their outgoing hospitality. It was there that Meriadoc Brandybuck, their only child and heir, became fast friends with Freddy, who was only two years older. Both little boys trailed after Frodo, which he both enjoyed and found annoying. But though the Brandybucks cared for Frodo and he for them, he was not one of their own. Their society was boisterous and their numbers large. In the much smaller family circle of the Bolgers, Frodo yet enjoyed a bit of what he missed, which was affection of a type he no longer received anywhere else. Among the children at the Hall, there were hugs and smacking kisses, giggling games of sexual exploration and much rough-and-tumble play. But there was not the tender, affectionate sort of regard that he observed within the intimate circle of the Bolger family. In their company Frodo basked in its reflected warmth.
Frodo loved to watch Odovacar and Rosamunda together, displaying all the little marks of affection that pass between a loving hobbit and his wife. Lightly, she would touch her husband's arm or smooth his hair while she made a point, or rest her cheek upon his shoulder as they sat and talked. He might stand with his arm around her while she worked in her kitchen, to talk or steal a laughing kiss. Often, they held hands when they walked. At the Hall, Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Saradoc were far more formal, even distant with each other – at least when Frodo was present. He loved to watch Odovacar hoist little Freddy up and toss him up to the sky or dandle Estella, when she came, upon his knee, cooing silly talk into her ear to make her giggle. Frodo was too big to toss or dandle, but the older hobbit would clap a friendly hand upon his shoulder or pull him close for a gruff hug. Odovacar would join the children in their rowdy games upon the small shady green that edged their home, allowing them to clamber over him and spoil his clothes. But especially Frodo loved to watch Rosamunda with Freddy and Estella, whether embracing them or simply offering a light touch of her fingers to guide them as they went. When she touched Frodo, placing a hand on his arm or washing a scraped knee, he loved merely to observe the sight of her long, shapely fingers upon his own skin. Burnished-brown moving over light: like a bird's tawny wing settling over its own white side he thought them, as her fingers hovered then alighted. Thus engrossed, Frodo would forget his pain for the moment.
x x x
1389 - Hobbiton
Nine years from the time his parents died, Frodo was taken to the western part of the Shire to live at Bag End in Hobbiton. Bilbo Baggins had stepped forward to take his young cousin into his sole personal care and made him his heir. Frodo was nearly twenty-one, just embarking upon his 'tweens.
Frodo continued to visit Buckland though not as often as he would like, due to distance from the West Farthing. It was nearly fifty miles. Day journeys they made on foot, but for visits to the Brandybucks they drove the trap, kept at the Cottons along with the pony. At the Hall, Frodo continued to be the favourite with little Merry and Freddy. But in Hobbiton, although he missed his Buckland friends, Frodo quickly settled into his new life with Bilbo. He liked the quiet, as well as the particular attention he received. And he was not bereft of other children with whom he might associate. Right away, Bilbo invited the Boffin lads from nearby Underhill to come and meet his new companion. The Boffins kept flocks of sheep, grazing them in the outlying lands. Their orchards were reknowned as well. Although Folco Boffin was further along in his 'tweens, he took the younger lad under his wing, showing him all the points of interest thereabouts that only another child would know, as well as recommending Frodo to his own little circle of friends.
Frodo's closest companion in Hobbiton, however, remained Bilbo himself. Although he was so much older, Bilbo always spoke to Frodo as his equal in terms of his understanding. But in knowledge, Frodo had much to learn. Bilbo's knowledge was very great and he was eager to share it. He not only knew about things which Frodo might be expected to learn, he knew about very much more besides. He knew about and even consorted with Elves and Dwarves and wizards. Dwarves had visited in Bag End itself, as Frodo knew from all the tales.
Frodo at last met the wizard Gandalf, notorious and bold – as Frodo had learned from Bilbo's thrilling tales. Gandalf had brought gifts and delicacies from Rivendell as usual, but Frodo must be patient. However, before Bilbo shooed the lad out so he might have a closeted talk with Gandalf, the wizard touched him on the shoulder and smiled, plucking a sweet from a beautiful casket. "Here, take it, my boy. These are from the Elves, you know!" Frodo was awed, but managed to stammer his gratitude. It was extremely delicious.
It was at about this time that Frodo started to keep his own journal. Bilbo was not only a scholar but a chronicler as well, making many histories and books that recorded what he'd learned. They contained pictures he had drawn, as well as charts and maps. Frodo admired these exceedingly and wished to make the same for himself. So Bilbo gave him a notebook – very nice – much too nice for a boy, most would say. It had a fine cover, too – oxblood red and smooth under his touch. The blank pages were creamy and rich.
Bilbo always went tramping when the weather was fine. Now he took Frodo with him, who cantered ahead and brought back reports of the lay of the land. Bilbo carried their books. Together they would settle to write and sketch the things that caught their eye. Bilbo preferred rocky outcroppings, an interesting tree or a ruined gate. Frodo preferred things that moved. "That's a fine bird!" Bilbo would say, "You've a keen eye, Frodo! The pinions are rendered exceedingly well! Your eye for detail really is quite good."
Frodo would blush – always a clear sign of his pleasure, blooming under the fair skin passed down from some remote Took.
"Now, what is it called? And what are its characteristics? Write it down. I know you can see – but how is your thinking? That is always good to develop, as well."
Frodo carefully would enter a text. He loved his journals. In fact he loved his books, all of them.
x x x
The Bolgers visited in Hobbiton, too, when on their way west to see Rosamunda's relations in Tookland. Her father, Sigismond, was born in the same year as Bilbo but he had no dragon magic to keep him young. At ninety-nine, he had become quite frail; Rosamunda knew her opportunities to see him were not unlimited. When they made these visits, Bilbo invited the Bolgers to stop with him.
At Bag End, Rosamunda and Bilbo got on very well. With interests in common and a mutual liking, they had been easy with each other from the time of her girlhood. She even enjoyed Bilbo's books, which was not common among her kin, but only the pictures, charts and maps. These she pored over with great interest, asking questions about them all. Otherwise, she much preferred a tale told round a fire to one read in a book. Bilbo had tried lending her small volumes of tales when visiting the Smials. He had thought, "Perhaps this one might be the one to entice her?" But she was not enticed. Eventually, shame-faced, she would return them, one by one, unread.
Apart from her not liking reading, Rosamunda was the sort of young woman Bilbo truly liked: intelligent, good-humoured and frank. And once she'd grown up, Bilbo, too, had appreciated what other hobbits saw in her, though he never saw fit to act upon it himself. He had had his little flings, but he did not mean to marry and was not a person to lead others to expect he might. In his long experience, it was far better to be friends. That fellow she married, Odovacar Bolger, would do very well for her. He had thought so from the first. Odovacar was not a thinker, but he was clever and a pleasant fellow with a ready wit, though a little coarse. His way with hobbit women was well known and snickered at – and widely envied. Yes, they would do very well.
And Bilbo, himself? However youthful Bilbo might look, most folk would say he really was too old. Alas, too true, he thought ruefully.
x x x
1390 - Tookland and Hobbiton
The Bolgers returned increasingly to Tookland so that Rosamunda might see her father, who was failing fast. As he worsened, they might stop at Bag End for only an hour or two, for the comfort of the children, before they sped on to the family home. Westward, out past Waymeet, then south toward Whitwell it was, tucked into grasslands and sheltered by a copse, not too far from Great Smials. Her gentle but melancholy father, Sigismond had continued there alone these many years, with the help of a hobbit woman from Tuckborough secured through the Thain's kindly wife, Eglantine. Now, Rosamunda's younger brother, Ferdinand, with his wife and new baby had moved in, too, in order to provide further help. As her father's condition worsened, Rosamunda turned the supervision of her children over to others at the very much larger Smials. With her children entertained elsewhere, she was better able to tend to her father's needs.
Odovacar brought his family into Tookland and collected them afterwards, but he did not stay long at her father's. He made use of such visits to see to the concerns of tenants who lived in holdings in the area, but primarily to join the Tooks in hunting. Many of the Tooks were keen for hunting, both for the sport and for the needs of the table. The forests and uplands of the Green Hills where they made their homes still teemed with game. Odovacar was good with a bow and enjoyed using it, having hunted from youth with his father and then with his friends. Off hunting, he left Rosamunda to care for her father. Such tasks were best done by a woman.
In the Thain's huge home there were plenty of children for Freddy and Estella to play with. Among Paladin and Eglantine's own children, Pimpernel and Pervinca were close in age to them. The Took's eldest child, already very lovely, was Pearl. She was then fifteen. She would not play willingly with the younger children although she would consent to boss them, but did enjoy holding and caring for them while they still were little. Pippin, their last, was born that year. Pearl thought him a detestable brat.
It was the Took children who began to call Fredegar, "Fatty" and the name stuck. But, as good-natured as his father, he did not seem to mind. A roly-poly baby, he'd become a stout child, though not enough to slow him down at play. He was stout of body, but also of heart, willing to match their challenges. The other children respected him for it.
x x x
Rosamunda began to resent the effects time was having on those she loved during these visits. Not only had her father become ravaged by age and illness, Odovacar had begun to seem older to her, too. Although he was twenty-five years her senior they had always enjoyed their life together to its full capacity. When Rosamunda had married him, having just come of age, Odovacar, to her, was indeed an "older man" – and an attractive one – fully in his prime. He was a big hobbit, strapping and handsome in the common way. He loved good food, good drink and good company. He was open-hearted and generous, though astute in business and common sense dealings, sparkling and much inclined to mirth. Rosamunda had known (as had most of the Shire) that he had loved frolicking, sexually, in his youth – and not only with the lasses. But he was truly enamoured of Rosamunda. Once married, he had in fact schooled Rosamunda in all he had learned. Rosamunda proved an apt pupil and he never strayed from her. Before Odovacar had courted her, she had been offered fumbling, artless kisses by her peers who pushed their hands up under her skirts, only to be slapped away. None of them offered what she experienced with Odovacar. His sensuality was unmistakable from the first stolen kisses outside her family's smial. Her father had the eyes to see it would be unwise to insist upon a long engagement.
But now Odovacar, too, was showing the signs of age. In the evenings she might find him asleep in front of the fire when she had finished with the children – the time when they usually relaxed together and talked and readied themselves for making love. Their night pleasures yet remained, if less energetic and frequent than they had been. He was tiring more easily on their rambles together, too, long one of their mutual enjoyments. But primarily it hurt her to notice the colour beginning to fade from his cheeks. His skin had begun to loosen slightly from the shrinking flesh beneath, cheeks that so recently had been round and bright as apples. And the sparkling, merry eyes had lost some of their twinkle and brilliance. His bodily strength, by which even this last year he could have swung her around till she was dizzy, or toss a hefty Fredegar high into the air, seemed diminished, too. When he thought no one was looking, he had begun to stoop.
Passing back through Hobbiton once more, the Bolgers stopped at Bag End. Other guests were expected to dinner. Relieved that they were only four among several others, Rosamunda settled back and listened to Bilbo's latest tales of meeting up with Gandalf and their Elvish friends. She had always loved to hear such stories, especially of the beautiful Elves. But in the firelight, watching Bilbo vigorously holding forth, everyone's attention rapt and their faces full of wonder, she thought of the skeletal father she had just left. She stole a glance at the face of her husband, which was looking somewhat haggard in repose now that his show of cheer was set aside. She felt resentment rise in her heart. The Elves and their immortality: the unfairness of it chafed her.
x x x
1391, Midwinter - Tookland and Bag End
Rosamunda's father died soon after. They returned that she might see to his burial, helped by her brother. It was agreed that he would stay on in the family home. The Bolger residence in Budgeford was her home, now, she assured him and Freddy would inherit it one day. She wanted only a few cherished pieces of furniture which had belonged to her mother, especially the great bed in which she had been born and her parents died.
Eglantine sent a matron to help Rosamunda lay her father out, bringing her water – hot and cold – beyond what she might have needed before as a guest. Together they stretched his body upon a table, borrowed from the Smial's kitchens. Her father was still tall, but very gaunt. As Rosamunda swabbed him down, the Took matron brought her all she needed. She should have been ashamed, she thought, seeing him so. But she wasn't. She thought as she washed him: Here is the one who brought me forth. But now he is gone, gone forever. It pained her, just the thought: both her parents now were dead.
They returned to Budgeford via Hobbiton, but Rosamunda was in no mood to stop. Odovacar had gone on ahead. From the pony trap she looked down at Bilbo, standing outside his gate with Frodo to welcome them in. She did not get down.
"Won't you stay, Rosa? Perhaps a pot of tea, then – and some refreshments for the children? They would like to stretch their legs, at least!" he urged her, quite solicitously.
She thought: He ought to look as my father did - old and diminished. They were born in the same year. But Bilbo seemed aglow with his unnatural youth. Unnatural.
She looked at Frodo and his dewy beauty. It will not last, she thought, not even his. He had better make use of it, while it does.
No, she would not stay.
Her children were disappointed at the briefness of the meeting, but refrained from making any protest. Estella and Freddy had never seen their mother in such a mood. Suddenly, the Bolgers were gone.
Bilbo turned to Frodo with a brusque word of consolation. "She is upset; she is not herself, my lad." He put her distant mood and cold behaviour down to agitation and grief, from the recent loss. But Frodo was truly hurt. He had wanted to say something – anything – to make her look at him with friendliness. But she had gone so quickly, he could not. He thought: She did not even know me.
"Come on, then. Let's have the tea ourselves." Bilbo, taking Frodo's arm, drew him inside.
x x x
1391-1394 - Budgeford and Buckland
The coming of spring proved irresistible and Rosamunda's dark mood passed. When Frodo came for his long visits from Hobbiton, he continued to be heartily welcomed at the Bolgers, where they often would stop on their way into Buckland. Increasingly, Freddy would ride with Bilbo and Frodo, staying on at the Hall to be with Merry and the other lads while Frodo was there.
Since they only saw him occasionally, the Bolgers could see how Frodo was growing out of boyhood. This was remarked upon with winks and jokes and words of affirmation, which he enjoyed, though he tried to pretend he did not.
Long now had Frodo delighted in creeping up behind Pansy or Rosamunda, to throw his arms about their waists, pulling them close for a laughing embrace. Rosamunda would shoo him away with a show of annoyance that was unfeigned, the times he truly had startled her, before she joined him in the joke. But Pansy would yelp with delighted laughter and capture his little wrists in her plump grip. Then she would smother him with noisy kisses that sent him into fits of giggles. "You'd best not try that again, Master Frodo," she would caution him with a grin, "or I'll drag you off for another dozen!" Frodo would accept the challenge and do it all over again. Each time, Freddy and Estella found this screamingly funny. And so it was.
But now, Frodo was twenty-three, definitely embarked upon his 'tweens, if there had been any doubt before The very last time Frodo had crept up on Pansy, she had laughed but had not kissed him. Holding him away with both reddened hands, the old nurse had looked at Frodo with frank appraisal, winked and said with a chuckle, "I'm thinking, young Master, you shouldn't be wasting your charms on the likes of me. It's time you were flinging your arms round other lasses -- if you've not done so already!" Frodo blushed furiously, abashed. Pansy relented and crushed him to her in her old embrace. "There, now," she said, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. "You're still my best lad! I only meant, you'll want to be spreading your favours about more! The lasses will be standing in line outside my door if you don't!" Frodo's pleasure at the implied praise overpowered any unhappy feelings, and a smile was coaxed from him. With a laugh, he gave Pansy a squeeze before he turned and skipped out the door.
Rosamunda observed this exchange and was not unmoved. But Pansy was right. He was not the little child they had known. Once upon a time, the top of Frodo's head was barely higher than her elbows. His arms and little hands, flung about her skirts, did not meet over her apron. But now he nearly reached her height and his hands had long been able to go well around her. You see, Auntie? I am big now!
Frodo would show off his growing strength, squeezing her until she demanded release. Yes, he was too old for this game. It seemed harmless with Pansy, but when he threw his arms around her now, it made Rosamunda feel a bit uneasy. When she allowed the thought to peek into her mind, the thought emerged that the sweet, beautiful little lad who had come to them eleven yearsago was become a nearly-grown one. She always had treated her young friend with affection, almost like a son. But Frodo was not her son, not really, was he?
However much she resisted examining this – in depth – she perceived enough to resolve a change in behaviour. She began, therefore, gently to nudge him away while trying not to make him feel rebuffed. She understood how much their affection had meant to him. But Frodo was not easy to rebuff. He could be obstinate, even wilful, when it mattered.
As it turned out, Rosamunda was reprieved. Frodo finally had become more interested in his peers at the Hall, rather than spending so much of his time with his young admirers, Merry and Freddy. Together with these older lads, Frodo began to tear around Buckland. Their exploits were on the lips of all the adults, who were both amused and irritated. She was annoyed with herself to discover how much she missed his friendly company.
During the next few seasons the cycle of visits and social gatherings continued. Rosamunda sawFrodo at large events when she was visiting in Buckland, bantering with friends his own age. Shewas pleased at the sight of him showing a typical interest in the lasses there assembled and they in him. Her possible "problem" seemed taken care of or, even, that she had imagined it. But as she observed him more closely she noted that Frodo had not taken aparticular fancy to any of these, a fancy which might move him toward forming an attachment, even if an adolescent one. This lack of a strong interest in someone in particular worried her. But at the same time, she was pained to acknowledge a tiny feeling of relief. Bother.
When Frodo seemedto have had enough of rampaging through the countryside with the lads, he was again more present with the Bolgers at Shady Bank,though not nearly as much as before. Freddy spent far more time in Buckland now, where there were so many more friends to play with than in Budgeford. At Brandy Hall,Merry and Freddy still were following Frodo about – or tried to – for they had long ago made of him their "captain."
Frodo made a few efforts to re-establish the affectionate familiarity of his friendship with Rosamunda. But his attempts were tentative now, rarely expressed in gesture. He reserved all that for Pansy, who still would indulge him. This new reserve toward her, though, was a good sign, Rosamunda thought. Frodo still had not understood the reasons for the change in her behaviour, nor its necessity. While he was aware of Rosamunda's gentle attempts to distance him, he had no idea why she was doing it. He remained a bit bewildered and felt vaguely perturbed. But she was an adult and he nominally a child, so he made the effort to respect her apparent wishes or mood, as was only fit and right.
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