The Monster of Bywater
Chapter One - The Bet
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Not a slash. Also, this story covers two topics that, while has been written numerous times in the past, has never been done quite like this. I wrote this story on an individual basis for the Middle-Earth's Finest fanfiction competition. If I have done an even semi-decent job at this, then this story may make you laugh, say, "Awwww!" a couple of times, and maybe even make you shed a tear or two. Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy. Rated G.
"Why don't you go out and explore a bit?" Bilbo suggested to the moping youth. Frodo sat at the kitchen table, sighing as he laid his mop of curls upon his folded arms. "I don't *want* to. . ." came the muffled reply.
Up to this point, the elder of the two hobbits had been stirring the pot of stew set upon the counter, but at this, Bilbo set down his wooden spoon. His lips forming a thin - and somewhat frustrated - line, he took a seat on the bench across from the boy. He set his chin upon his arms in a similar fashion as his nephew (well, more accurately, his *cousin*, but let us not get into that discussion. . .), their gazes finally becoming eye-to-eye.
"Frodo, my lad," Bilbo sighed, "I know that you miss your Brandybuck relatives terribly, but you know that the best place for you is *here.* Isn't that right, my lad?" The boy sighed as well, but with the unrepressed sorrow that could only belong to that of a growing tweenager. It had been several years since his parents' untimely deaths, but had been plucked out of Brandy Hall to stay at Bag End for a time. There was a disease - though non-deadly, rather torture some - running its course through its halls, making every child sick to the point of tears.
Frodo Baggins had long since become immune to the virus that caused this ghastly thing, but the pain of seeing his cousins in such torment made his soul weep. He did his best to sit at their bedsides, and hold them and tell them of far-off places and far-off people, but it was simply no use. The administering of the medicine and other treatments grew more trifle some with Frodo's presence, always having to go around him to get to the children. So, before the lad knew it, the children's sensitive mentor had been temporarily expelled.
This is how he got here, to Bag End. Wanting to do everything in his power to help, Bilbo had volunteered to take in the lad - anything to remove him from such a horrid atmosphere as that of wailing and troubled children, especially those that Frodo loved so dearly as if they were his own siblings. It had been a few days since this separation, and the tweenager had yet to take it well - in Bilbo's eyes, he simply moped about the smial, his mind focused on nothing in particular, but all the same, dwelling upon his cousins' welfare.
It had to stop here and now.
"I am sorry," Bilbo finally whispered. "I really am. . ." Two clear blue eyes bore back into his own, a spark of cynicism running through them. They seemed to ridicule, 'Yes, you are very sorry. But now you're going to tell me why I shouldn't keep on being sad, right? Oh, how many times I've heard that before, Bilbo. . .ever since. . .the Accident. . .'
Thinking that this direct approach may not be the best after all, Bilbo drew back his advancement and chose another route. "Say, Frodo. . .how would you like to make a bet?"
"A bet?" Frodo repeated, arching up an eyebrow. "What sort of bet?. . ."
A smile flickered across Bilbo's lips. Sitting up a bit, the hobbit slipped his hand into his vest pocket, running a finger over the smooth, cool surface of the trinket within. "Well," he began, "I was thinking that if you *win*, I would let you read the book I'm writing. . ."
Book? Frodo's eyes immediately lit up with interest. He lived his life for books, the appropriate getaway for a fanciful mind such as his. He loved reading about Elves, Dwarves, dragons, and other notoriously legendary things. Most people in the Shire did not believe that they even existed, and those that did viewed them as a sort of crop-eating insect - once one comes, the rest follow and swallow up everything good and prosperous. All Big People were viewed this way. . .
But Frodo was different. He had heard of Bilbo's infamy with associating with such people, and the lad admired him for that. He had always wanted to visit - and even stay, if he was lucky enough - "Mad Baggins," and he would've been happy to be at Bag End had it not been for the circumstances.
This book, Frodo decided, must be one overflowing with knowledge and - dare he lift his hopes up so high? - adventures of such fascinating specimens. He must have it, even if he should only be allowed to *glimpse* at the contents of its pages!
Doing his best to appear uninterested (which was a failure in itself, as Bilbo had already seen the twinkle in the boy's eyes), Frodo sat up and folded his arms over his chest. Closing his eyelids as though in irritated tolerance, he spoke, "*So*. . .what exactly did you have in mind for this, this. . .'*bet*,' as you so wish to call it?"
Bilbo fought valiantly with himself to keep the smirk off his aging face. Also managing to suppress an offending chuckle, he cleared his throat and replied, "Well, I had a bit of something in mind, Frodo-lad. If you should choose to accept this bet, your challenge is to go anywhere here in Hobbiton - the village, a field, the Bywater creek - and bring me back a bit of something showing that you were there. What do you say?"
Frodo stared at him a long moment, disgust shining through his glass-like eyes. 'Madness,' he scoffed. 'Sheer madness. It is like those games that parents play with their children - "Whoever stays quiet the longest," they tell their bickering lads and lasses while on a family excursion, "wins! Now, let us play 'The Quiet Game'. . ." My dear Bilbo, is this the best thing you could think up?'
". . .That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
The elder Baggins could handle it no longer. He snorted - very loudly. Frodo's belittling eyes turned to that of surprise - 'What on earth. . .? What's so funny?'
A hand slapped over his own mouth, Bilbo finally withdrew a large breath. Once his amusement had been subdued, he coughed and straightened out his red vest as to regain his dignity. "I'm sorry, nephew. . ." he apologized, the remnants of laughter still upon his lips and in his shimmering eyes. He folded his hands on the table before him, and stared fixedly at the lad. "So. . .do we have a deal, lad?"
His fingers untwined about one another, then he extended his right hand forward, waiting to be shaken by the boy. Frodo stared at the outstretched hand, biting his lip in apprehension. Should he go along in Bilbo's childish game, or should he retain his dignity, as well as his sorrow? The silence weighing heavily upon his shoulders, the tweenager did not so much as blink.
Sighing softly, Bilbo set his arm once more upon the table, folding his hands thoughtfully. After another moment of silence passed, the hobbit leaned across the table, whispering quietly. "I know it's hard, Frodo-lad. . . But there is nothing that can be done about it. Your cousins will be good and well soon enough... You just wait - by the time you get back, they'll be bouncing off walls again, just like old times." Previously on the brink of tears, Frodo hiccupped a laugh at this, even going as far as to smile. It was true, after all - his cousins did have the unfortunate reputation of bouncing off walls, and sometimes destroying household furniture in the process. Not knowing what else to do, the boy lowered his eyes to peer at the table's clean (as clean as can be expected of a bachelor, anyway) surface.
A mischievous gleam crossing his eyes, Bilbo smiled inwardly and rose from his seat. "Well," he announced, "I must be off. Got to go work on that book some more." As he turned about, he was most amused by the glance he caught of Frodo, the lad's mouth hanging open in horror. Work on a book! Without letting *him* see it? It was almost too much to bear for the boy.
"All right, all right!" Frodo cried out, his tone reflecting more desperateness than reluctance. "It is a deal!" Pushing his hands against the tabletop, Frodo nearly leaped from his seat. His excited hand cut through the air, radiating the earnest glow within the boy.
Smiling broadly, Bilbo turned about. "A deal it is!" And with that, the pair shook hands, sealing their pact.
Chapter One - The Bet
By Talking Hawk
Author's Note: Not a slash. Also, this story covers two topics that, while has been written numerous times in the past, has never been done quite like this. I wrote this story on an individual basis for the Middle-Earth's Finest fanfiction competition. If I have done an even semi-decent job at this, then this story may make you laugh, say, "Awwww!" a couple of times, and maybe even make you shed a tear or two. Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy. Rated G.
"Why don't you go out and explore a bit?" Bilbo suggested to the moping youth. Frodo sat at the kitchen table, sighing as he laid his mop of curls upon his folded arms. "I don't *want* to. . ." came the muffled reply.
Up to this point, the elder of the two hobbits had been stirring the pot of stew set upon the counter, but at this, Bilbo set down his wooden spoon. His lips forming a thin - and somewhat frustrated - line, he took a seat on the bench across from the boy. He set his chin upon his arms in a similar fashion as his nephew (well, more accurately, his *cousin*, but let us not get into that discussion. . .), their gazes finally becoming eye-to-eye.
"Frodo, my lad," Bilbo sighed, "I know that you miss your Brandybuck relatives terribly, but you know that the best place for you is *here.* Isn't that right, my lad?" The boy sighed as well, but with the unrepressed sorrow that could only belong to that of a growing tweenager. It had been several years since his parents' untimely deaths, but had been plucked out of Brandy Hall to stay at Bag End for a time. There was a disease - though non-deadly, rather torture some - running its course through its halls, making every child sick to the point of tears.
Frodo Baggins had long since become immune to the virus that caused this ghastly thing, but the pain of seeing his cousins in such torment made his soul weep. He did his best to sit at their bedsides, and hold them and tell them of far-off places and far-off people, but it was simply no use. The administering of the medicine and other treatments grew more trifle some with Frodo's presence, always having to go around him to get to the children. So, before the lad knew it, the children's sensitive mentor had been temporarily expelled.
This is how he got here, to Bag End. Wanting to do everything in his power to help, Bilbo had volunteered to take in the lad - anything to remove him from such a horrid atmosphere as that of wailing and troubled children, especially those that Frodo loved so dearly as if they were his own siblings. It had been a few days since this separation, and the tweenager had yet to take it well - in Bilbo's eyes, he simply moped about the smial, his mind focused on nothing in particular, but all the same, dwelling upon his cousins' welfare.
It had to stop here and now.
"I am sorry," Bilbo finally whispered. "I really am. . ." Two clear blue eyes bore back into his own, a spark of cynicism running through them. They seemed to ridicule, 'Yes, you are very sorry. But now you're going to tell me why I shouldn't keep on being sad, right? Oh, how many times I've heard that before, Bilbo. . .ever since. . .the Accident. . .'
Thinking that this direct approach may not be the best after all, Bilbo drew back his advancement and chose another route. "Say, Frodo. . .how would you like to make a bet?"
"A bet?" Frodo repeated, arching up an eyebrow. "What sort of bet?. . ."
A smile flickered across Bilbo's lips. Sitting up a bit, the hobbit slipped his hand into his vest pocket, running a finger over the smooth, cool surface of the trinket within. "Well," he began, "I was thinking that if you *win*, I would let you read the book I'm writing. . ."
Book? Frodo's eyes immediately lit up with interest. He lived his life for books, the appropriate getaway for a fanciful mind such as his. He loved reading about Elves, Dwarves, dragons, and other notoriously legendary things. Most people in the Shire did not believe that they even existed, and those that did viewed them as a sort of crop-eating insect - once one comes, the rest follow and swallow up everything good and prosperous. All Big People were viewed this way. . .
But Frodo was different. He had heard of Bilbo's infamy with associating with such people, and the lad admired him for that. He had always wanted to visit - and even stay, if he was lucky enough - "Mad Baggins," and he would've been happy to be at Bag End had it not been for the circumstances.
This book, Frodo decided, must be one overflowing with knowledge and - dare he lift his hopes up so high? - adventures of such fascinating specimens. He must have it, even if he should only be allowed to *glimpse* at the contents of its pages!
Doing his best to appear uninterested (which was a failure in itself, as Bilbo had already seen the twinkle in the boy's eyes), Frodo sat up and folded his arms over his chest. Closing his eyelids as though in irritated tolerance, he spoke, "*So*. . .what exactly did you have in mind for this, this. . .'*bet*,' as you so wish to call it?"
Bilbo fought valiantly with himself to keep the smirk off his aging face. Also managing to suppress an offending chuckle, he cleared his throat and replied, "Well, I had a bit of something in mind, Frodo-lad. If you should choose to accept this bet, your challenge is to go anywhere here in Hobbiton - the village, a field, the Bywater creek - and bring me back a bit of something showing that you were there. What do you say?"
Frodo stared at him a long moment, disgust shining through his glass-like eyes. 'Madness,' he scoffed. 'Sheer madness. It is like those games that parents play with their children - "Whoever stays quiet the longest," they tell their bickering lads and lasses while on a family excursion, "wins! Now, let us play 'The Quiet Game'. . ." My dear Bilbo, is this the best thing you could think up?'
". . .That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
The elder Baggins could handle it no longer. He snorted - very loudly. Frodo's belittling eyes turned to that of surprise - 'What on earth. . .? What's so funny?'
A hand slapped over his own mouth, Bilbo finally withdrew a large breath. Once his amusement had been subdued, he coughed and straightened out his red vest as to regain his dignity. "I'm sorry, nephew. . ." he apologized, the remnants of laughter still upon his lips and in his shimmering eyes. He folded his hands on the table before him, and stared fixedly at the lad. "So. . .do we have a deal, lad?"
His fingers untwined about one another, then he extended his right hand forward, waiting to be shaken by the boy. Frodo stared at the outstretched hand, biting his lip in apprehension. Should he go along in Bilbo's childish game, or should he retain his dignity, as well as his sorrow? The silence weighing heavily upon his shoulders, the tweenager did not so much as blink.
Sighing softly, Bilbo set his arm once more upon the table, folding his hands thoughtfully. After another moment of silence passed, the hobbit leaned across the table, whispering quietly. "I know it's hard, Frodo-lad. . . But there is nothing that can be done about it. Your cousins will be good and well soon enough... You just wait - by the time you get back, they'll be bouncing off walls again, just like old times." Previously on the brink of tears, Frodo hiccupped a laugh at this, even going as far as to smile. It was true, after all - his cousins did have the unfortunate reputation of bouncing off walls, and sometimes destroying household furniture in the process. Not knowing what else to do, the boy lowered his eyes to peer at the table's clean (as clean as can be expected of a bachelor, anyway) surface.
A mischievous gleam crossing his eyes, Bilbo smiled inwardly and rose from his seat. "Well," he announced, "I must be off. Got to go work on that book some more." As he turned about, he was most amused by the glance he caught of Frodo, the lad's mouth hanging open in horror. Work on a book! Without letting *him* see it? It was almost too much to bear for the boy.
"All right, all right!" Frodo cried out, his tone reflecting more desperateness than reluctance. "It is a deal!" Pushing his hands against the tabletop, Frodo nearly leaped from his seat. His excited hand cut through the air, radiating the earnest glow within the boy.
Smiling broadly, Bilbo turned about. "A deal it is!" And with that, the pair shook hands, sealing their pact.
