Title: Things that go Bump in the Night - For Arien
Author: Angie
Rating: G. Non-slash. Fluff and not much plot.
When Winter snows barricades Frodo and Bilbo in at Bag End they find they
have an unwelcome visitor.
Bilbo sat on the bench outside his nice green round front door and sent smoke rings sailing up into the grey, snow laden sky. He pulled his cloak a little more tightly around him. The Gaffer had said the snow would likely come around lunchtime and, as usual, it looked like he was right on time. Bilbo's gardener had spent the morning hauling fresh logs from the log pile into the back cellar and filling all the log baskets around the burrow. The chimney on the hill was smoking well, adding its greyness to the lowering sky. Chicken stew was on the stove and Bilbo had come out for a moment to enjoy a bit of pipeweed and take the air.
This was his favourite vantage point. He could over look the Party tree and the field below, see down to Bagshot row. His eyes were now following a group of small figures in the field below as they ran to and fro gathering yesterdays snowfall and rolling it into a snowtroll – when they were not pelting handfuls at each other. Two of the hobbit children his eyes could pick out easily – one small stocky little lad and his tall slender guardian. Frodo had shot up this last summer and was easily a head taller than his peers. Bilbo hoped the lad would stop growing taller soon and start to fill out a bit. He was terribly skinny for a hobbit. Unless Primula's whimsy was true and the lad was really a changeling elf baby and would not stop growing until he had to stoop to enter the doorway to Bag End.
Bilbo smiled round his pipe. Frodo, wearing his new sky blue jacket and cap was helping Samwise over some of the lumpier parts of the Party field where the snow was deeper. One more good fall like yesterdays and they would be snowed in.
From his vantage Bilbo could see an ambush had been set for Frodo and Sam by a group of older Gamgee's and the Cottons. They were all crowded behind a holly bush with a veritable arsenal of snowballs. Luckily the girls were giggling so hard that the noise carried up the hill on the still air and Frodo was warned enough to pick up Sam and dive behind a snow bank before the first volley was loosed. Deprived of their target the Cottons turned on the Gamgee's and battle commenced. Frodo and Sam both joined in the fray – Frodo loyally on the Gamgee's side.
Bilbo stood up and shivered. It was time for him to go indoors and start dishing up stew. If he knew his Bagginess, Cottons and Gamgee's, there would soon be a pile of dripping and cold hobbit children heading up to the kitchen at Bag End and knocking snow all over his newly swept floor tiles.
As predictable as the Gaffer's weather forecast, soon the kitchen table at Bag End was surrounded by hobbit children greedily eating stew whilst their coats, caps, scarves, and gloves dripped by the fire. Bilbo listened to the happy chatter and old campaigners stories as he kept bowls filled.
"Rose shoved a snowball right down the back of my neck!" Daisy was exclaiming, wriggling on the bench. "I think it went into my knickers!"
Bilbo chuckled to himself and caught Frodo's blue eyes in his cold flushed face. The two smiled at each other as Bilbo refilled the lads bowl and ruffled his hair. "Finnish up now, you lot," said Bilbo. "It will be snowing again soon and I want you all home to your parents before then."
There was a chorus of groans from round the table. Being snowed up in Bag End would be a wonderful adventure.
"I mean it," Bilbo warned. "I don't want your mothers marching up here to tell me off for leading their offspring astray."
When the last dripping visitor had left, Bilbo mopped the kitchen floor whilst Frodo did the washing up. The boy was whistling a Yuletide tune as he worked – which was unfortunately punctuated by a sneeze.
"That's it, my lad. There is water for a hot bath. Off you go."
Cheerfully Frodo jumped down from the stool he had been standing on (he wasn't as tall as Bilbo yet), his toes were longing for a soak in hot water. Whilst the two had been clearing up the first small flurries of snow had started and Frodo stood for a moment by the window watching the flakes fall.
"Is it true, what the Gaffer says?" he asked. "That each snowflake is different?"
"Yes, it is," Bilbo leant the mob up against the sink. "No two are exactly alike."
"But how can there be so many different shapes?" Frodo wanted to know.
Bilbo knew that if they started on this Frodo's questions would never end and the bath water would be cold. "Same as there are so many different kinds of people." Bilbo looked fondly at his boy watching the snowflakes so raptly. "No two people are alike. Now – bath!"
Frodo ran off.
Bilbo put an extra log onto the fire in his study and drew up two comfortable chairs, equipped with cushions and blankets. He made sure there were mugs of hot milk standing in the hearth and ginger cookies to hand, before fetching a book to read. He settled into his chair and watched the fire. The flames reminded him of times long ago – like the glow of a dragons den seen from a distance, or the sight of a camp fire through the trees.
Towling his hair dry Frodo came along the passageway to find Bilbo in the study. There sat the dear old hobbit, unlit pipe in one hand, unopened book on his lap, head back, mouth open and fast asleep. Smiling Frodo sat on the rug to sip his warm milk and dip in ginger cookies until the ends fell off them. Drink finished – right down to the gingery dregs Frodo pulled the rug off the other chair and wrapped it round his shoulders. He settled by his Uncles feet, rested his head on the wool-covered knee, and looked dreamily into the fire until he too fell asleep.
The next morning Hobbiton was a white world of impassable roads and snow covered front doors. Little chimneys popped up at intervals through the uniform landscape of snow and beaconed habitation in snug houses and burrows beneath nature's winter blanket. Hobbits, possessed as they are of several pantries and the good forethought to fill them up, are quiet happy to be snowed up awhile. It gives them a change to catch up on their sleeping.
A hobbit hole is a snug and comfortable place to be. Frodo and Bilbo amused themselves quietly enough. For all Frodo was an energetic run around kind of boy he also loved books and stories and could entertain himself endlessly with some old tome. Bilbo wrote in his study while Frodo read on the couch.
The days would have past happily and quietly enough had it not been for the fact that last Autumn Bilbo had been building an extension to one of the back pantries. With a growing tween to feed the extra space would soon be needed, he reasoned. For various reasons the work had not quite been completed. There was a patch of plaster high on the wall in the nice round room which needed going over again, but with the set in of bad weather the ground above had never quite dried out enough for the first coat to set. It was far back into the hill and Bilbo reasoned that the room would not be needed until the next year's harvest, so it had been left.
On the second night they were snowed in Frodo was woken by a strange noise. The tweenagers room was towards the back of the burrow and at first he assumed the noise was snow falling from the roof. Frodo lay for a while listening. The soft crackle of his fire was all he could hear for a while and he was just thinking he had imagined the noise when it came again. A slither and a crash. It came from one of the back pantries and Frodo thought the noise was probably an ill balanced sack of potatoes falling over or some such. He probably ought to go and investigate – Bilbo would be very upset if any food were spoilt. But it was too warm to get out of bed. Frodo dug his toes into the softness of his mattress and tried to forget the noise.
Until it was repeated.
Well, not exactly repeated. This noise was louder. The definite sound of a barrel being turned over. Maybe the sack of potatoes had knocked over a barrel of pipeweed. That would upset Bilbo!
Reluctantly Frodo got out of bed and went to fetch his dressing gown from the back of the door. Once belted into its warmth the lad fetched and lit his candle at the fire and then made his way out into the passage. All was quiet again. Maybe he had imagined it?
Frodo crept down the tunnel into the darker recesses of Bag End. When he had first come to live at Bag End Bilbo had told him that a troll lived in the furthest pantry. It was Bilbo's amusing way of protecting his pipe weed store from a curious tween but it had given the sensitive and imaginative Frodo nightmares for months and he still felt uneasy about that pantry.
Now he entered that room with held breath and swept his candle around to view the stacks of barrels and boxes, sacks and jars. All seemed in its place. A nicely finished door way lead into the final, newly built pantry. Frodo knew not much was stored there yet. A few sacks of potatoes and some bottles which Frodo had been warned away from with threats of dire consequences to his behind should he so much as disturb the dust on them. Bilbo had only ever spanked Frodo twice but the lad did not want to take the chance, Bilbo was an old fashioned hobbit and spankings usually took place with the aid of his desk ruler – which was rather a heavy one. In the seven years since the biggest rascal at Brandy hall had come to live at Hobbiton he was much reformed.
There it was again! A low shuffling and a sniffing! With irrational panicy thoughts of the troll Frodo had just decided to go and wake Bilbo when there was a snarl, something low and heavy rushed into his shins, and he just caught a flash of white before the candel flew out of his hand to expire on the floor. He had time for one almighty yelp of fright, and he too was crashing to the floor, felled by the heavy body of the mysterious beast, taking with him a whole neat stack of flour barrels.
Bilbo was awakened from deep sleep by the most awful series of noises he had heard since Smaug brought half the mountain down upon the dwarves. He sat up, his heart hammering, in time to fully catch a yell from somewhere deep in the smial and the crashing of wood on tiles. He was up out of bed, candle lit, and scampering down the hall before you could say "Arkenstone of Thrane". Bilbo might be old but he could still react to an emergency like a trained burglar.
He arrived in the pantry to a scene of chaos. Frodo, covered in flour, was lying on the tiled floor. The elder hobbit hardly had time to take in the scene before his attention was captured by a snarl. Backed into a space between two packing crates was the low compact body of one of the largest badgers Bilbo had ever seen in his life.
Shocked into immobility Bilbo could only stare at the large beast as it stared back at him with bright dark eyes. Its white mask was part covered in earth which only served to heightened the gleam of its teeth as it snarled at this new intruder. It took a little moan from the lad on the floor to galvanise Bilbo back into action. Seizing an onion from the top of an open sack he threw it with unerring accuracy to catch the badger right on the end of its sensitive nose. Bilbo caught up several more onions before the first one had hit and used them to drive the creature back out into the new pantry – whereupon he slammed the door upon the creature and clicked the latch into place.
Hardly pausing to catch his breath Bilbo was at Frodo's side. "Frodo! Frodo lad! Are you hurt?"
Frodo looked up with eyes wide with shock. "How on earth did a badger get in here?"
"Probably through that unfinished wall. We must have excavated practically into its set!" Bilbo berated himself for being the worst kind of fool of a hobbit. "Did you hit your head?"
Frodo reached up with a shaky hand to brush a cloud of flour from his hair. "No, I don't think so....."
"It was probably much more frightened of you than you were of it," Bilbo said. He sat down to sit by the lad, having to admit to himself that the badger had given him quite a scare too. There is nothing like being wakened from a sound sleep to find an intruder in the back pantry. Bilbo looked at Frodo. The boys blue eyes were huge with shock in his otherwise flour-covered face. He chose that moment to sneeze and a little cloud of white dust rose into the air. Bilbo could not help it – his mouth twitched, he smiled, and then he chuckled. The lad really did look very comical sitting on the pantry flour covered in flour and looking totally surprised to find himself there.
Frodo grinned back and began to giggle.
Soon the two cousins were falling over each other on the pantry floor helpless with laughter. Everytime Bilbo managed to get himself under control Frodo would let out another spluttering giggle and they would both start off again.
By the time they finished both were drained, panting for breath and tears streaming down their faces.
"Come, let's get you cleaned up my boy."
Leaning on each other they made a sort of hopping progress down the corridor well enough until they gained the bathroom door. There Frodo leant for a moment to catch his breath.
"How are you doing lad?" Bilbo looked into Frodo's face to see the flour now streaked by tears and he could feel Frodo shaking. "Alright, onto the stool with you."
Bilbo tried to leaver Frodo down onto the small three-legged stool but the boy was becoming a heavier weight in his arms. "I'm sorry Bilbo," he whispered. "I feel all shaky."
"I know my lad. Lets sit you down on the rug. You've had a bit of a shock is all? Here you clean off your face whilst I put the kettle on." Leaning Frodo against the bathtub Bilbo ran as fast as he could to the kitchen. He grabbed up several things, including the kettle which was always kept warming on the hearth and a mug. When he got back to the bathroom Frodo had whipped more of the flour from his face but it had not improved the lads pal our.
Bilbo set down his supplies – including the little wooden box which held his medicinal supplies – mostly Bell Gamgee's home remedies, and so tried and proven over the years of raising six healthy children. He selected a few items now and put some herbs to steep in a bowl of hot water poured from the kettle. Frodo took a deep, is slightly shaky breath of the aroma and sagged back against the bathtub as his uncle moved round to hold him close. "There, there my boy."
"I'm sorry," Frodo whimpered. "I am so sorry!"
"What ever have you to be sorry for lad?" the old hobbit asked concerned.
"I am not very brave."
Bilbo hugged Frodo closer offering what comfort he could. "Here," he fished another small bottle out of his chest. "Take a couple of drops of this onto the back of your tongue. I will make you some hot milk."
Bilbo held the shaking lad until he seemed to be calmed. "Lets get you into a clean nightshirt."
Feeling very pathetic but as limp as a dishrag Frodo let Bilbo help him into a clean nightshirt. Once dressed and the worst of the flour out of his chestnut curls Bilbo stooped down and lifted Frodo up into his arms.
"Uncle!" Frodo protested.
Bilbo humphed. "Well, I think I can get you as far as my bed. But you really are getting a little too big to do this."
Frodo settled down whilst Bilbo carried him rather awkwardly out into the hall. He remembered when he had been little enough to sit on Bilbo's shoulders to be taken down to market or into the village. He used to pretend to be a Ranger and Bilbo his faithful horse.
Now though Bilbo carried him through a door way off the corridor.
"This is your room!" Frodo protested.
"Nearer to the kitchen," Bilbo replied. "And I don't think I can carry you any further."
Frodo giggled again and Bilbo dropped him into the bed. "Now scoot under the covers and get warm while I fetch the tea."
Frodo burrowed into Bilbo's big bed. He loved Bilbo's bedroom – it was so interesting. The large room must once have been Bilbo's parents. It smelt of wood polish and pipeweed. It was dominated by a large old-fashioned bed that could easily accommodate about four hobbits. Mostly now it was filled with large fluffy pillows and Bilbo's huge burgundy eiderdown and a couple of books.
The large hearth still contained a nicely made up fire and by the side of it was the old rocking chair which Frodo knew of old as an elf ship for sailing to the undying lands. All the furniture was heavy and old fashioned, the wardrobe, chests and bookcases. The room was much neater than Bilbo's study but still piled with books, candle holders, a few maps and scrolls. Bilbo's stick and pack leant by the door – ready Bilbo always said, in case any wizards came knocking on the door.
There were all sorts of mementoes from Bilbo's wanderings – most of which Frodo could not identify. Strange elvish objects.
At last the owner came back into his room and set a tea tray on the bedside table. Of course the tray not only contained mugs of milk but also a selection of biscuits and little cakes – just in case. Bilbo surveyed his small charge in the bed. The colour was starting to return to tear stained cheeks, and as he watched, Frodo yawned cavernously.
"Here, drink this and then to sleep with you my lad."
Frodo sat up on a pillow. "Would you tell me a story? Only... not a scary one."
Bilbo chuckled. "No, I think you have had enough scares for one night. Move over then."
Bilbo settled back against the headboard and Frodo sipped his drink. The boy then squirmed over and fitted himself beneath his guardians arm. Bilbo was very nice and solid and comforting. He was feeling better, and warm and sleepy and though Bilbo did start his story Frodo did not hear a lot of it.
end
Bilbo sat on the bench outside his nice green round front door and sent smoke rings sailing up into the grey, snow laden sky. He pulled his cloak a little more tightly around him. The Gaffer had said the snow would likely come around lunchtime and, as usual, it looked like he was right on time. Bilbo's gardener had spent the morning hauling fresh logs from the log pile into the back cellar and filling all the log baskets around the burrow. The chimney on the hill was smoking well, adding its greyness to the lowering sky. Chicken stew was on the stove and Bilbo had come out for a moment to enjoy a bit of pipeweed and take the air.
This was his favourite vantage point. He could over look the Party tree and the field below, see down to Bagshot row. His eyes were now following a group of small figures in the field below as they ran to and fro gathering yesterdays snowfall and rolling it into a snowtroll – when they were not pelting handfuls at each other. Two of the hobbit children his eyes could pick out easily – one small stocky little lad and his tall slender guardian. Frodo had shot up this last summer and was easily a head taller than his peers. Bilbo hoped the lad would stop growing taller soon and start to fill out a bit. He was terribly skinny for a hobbit. Unless Primula's whimsy was true and the lad was really a changeling elf baby and would not stop growing until he had to stoop to enter the doorway to Bag End.
Bilbo smiled round his pipe. Frodo, wearing his new sky blue jacket and cap was helping Samwise over some of the lumpier parts of the Party field where the snow was deeper. One more good fall like yesterdays and they would be snowed in.
From his vantage Bilbo could see an ambush had been set for Frodo and Sam by a group of older Gamgee's and the Cottons. They were all crowded behind a holly bush with a veritable arsenal of snowballs. Luckily the girls were giggling so hard that the noise carried up the hill on the still air and Frodo was warned enough to pick up Sam and dive behind a snow bank before the first volley was loosed. Deprived of their target the Cottons turned on the Gamgee's and battle commenced. Frodo and Sam both joined in the fray – Frodo loyally on the Gamgee's side.
Bilbo stood up and shivered. It was time for him to go indoors and start dishing up stew. If he knew his Bagginess, Cottons and Gamgee's, there would soon be a pile of dripping and cold hobbit children heading up to the kitchen at Bag End and knocking snow all over his newly swept floor tiles.
As predictable as the Gaffer's weather forecast, soon the kitchen table at Bag End was surrounded by hobbit children greedily eating stew whilst their coats, caps, scarves, and gloves dripped by the fire. Bilbo listened to the happy chatter and old campaigners stories as he kept bowls filled.
"Rose shoved a snowball right down the back of my neck!" Daisy was exclaiming, wriggling on the bench. "I think it went into my knickers!"
Bilbo chuckled to himself and caught Frodo's blue eyes in his cold flushed face. The two smiled at each other as Bilbo refilled the lads bowl and ruffled his hair. "Finnish up now, you lot," said Bilbo. "It will be snowing again soon and I want you all home to your parents before then."
There was a chorus of groans from round the table. Being snowed up in Bag End would be a wonderful adventure.
"I mean it," Bilbo warned. "I don't want your mothers marching up here to tell me off for leading their offspring astray."
When the last dripping visitor had left, Bilbo mopped the kitchen floor whilst Frodo did the washing up. The boy was whistling a Yuletide tune as he worked – which was unfortunately punctuated by a sneeze.
"That's it, my lad. There is water for a hot bath. Off you go."
Cheerfully Frodo jumped down from the stool he had been standing on (he wasn't as tall as Bilbo yet), his toes were longing for a soak in hot water. Whilst the two had been clearing up the first small flurries of snow had started and Frodo stood for a moment by the window watching the flakes fall.
"Is it true, what the Gaffer says?" he asked. "That each snowflake is different?"
"Yes, it is," Bilbo leant the mob up against the sink. "No two are exactly alike."
"But how can there be so many different shapes?" Frodo wanted to know.
Bilbo knew that if they started on this Frodo's questions would never end and the bath water would be cold. "Same as there are so many different kinds of people." Bilbo looked fondly at his boy watching the snowflakes so raptly. "No two people are alike. Now – bath!"
Frodo ran off.
Bilbo put an extra log onto the fire in his study and drew up two comfortable chairs, equipped with cushions and blankets. He made sure there were mugs of hot milk standing in the hearth and ginger cookies to hand, before fetching a book to read. He settled into his chair and watched the fire. The flames reminded him of times long ago – like the glow of a dragons den seen from a distance, or the sight of a camp fire through the trees.
Towling his hair dry Frodo came along the passageway to find Bilbo in the study. There sat the dear old hobbit, unlit pipe in one hand, unopened book on his lap, head back, mouth open and fast asleep. Smiling Frodo sat on the rug to sip his warm milk and dip in ginger cookies until the ends fell off them. Drink finished – right down to the gingery dregs Frodo pulled the rug off the other chair and wrapped it round his shoulders. He settled by his Uncles feet, rested his head on the wool-covered knee, and looked dreamily into the fire until he too fell asleep.
The next morning Hobbiton was a white world of impassable roads and snow covered front doors. Little chimneys popped up at intervals through the uniform landscape of snow and beaconed habitation in snug houses and burrows beneath nature's winter blanket. Hobbits, possessed as they are of several pantries and the good forethought to fill them up, are quiet happy to be snowed up awhile. It gives them a change to catch up on their sleeping.
A hobbit hole is a snug and comfortable place to be. Frodo and Bilbo amused themselves quietly enough. For all Frodo was an energetic run around kind of boy he also loved books and stories and could entertain himself endlessly with some old tome. Bilbo wrote in his study while Frodo read on the couch.
The days would have past happily and quietly enough had it not been for the fact that last Autumn Bilbo had been building an extension to one of the back pantries. With a growing tween to feed the extra space would soon be needed, he reasoned. For various reasons the work had not quite been completed. There was a patch of plaster high on the wall in the nice round room which needed going over again, but with the set in of bad weather the ground above had never quite dried out enough for the first coat to set. It was far back into the hill and Bilbo reasoned that the room would not be needed until the next year's harvest, so it had been left.
On the second night they were snowed in Frodo was woken by a strange noise. The tweenagers room was towards the back of the burrow and at first he assumed the noise was snow falling from the roof. Frodo lay for a while listening. The soft crackle of his fire was all he could hear for a while and he was just thinking he had imagined the noise when it came again. A slither and a crash. It came from one of the back pantries and Frodo thought the noise was probably an ill balanced sack of potatoes falling over or some such. He probably ought to go and investigate – Bilbo would be very upset if any food were spoilt. But it was too warm to get out of bed. Frodo dug his toes into the softness of his mattress and tried to forget the noise.
Until it was repeated.
Well, not exactly repeated. This noise was louder. The definite sound of a barrel being turned over. Maybe the sack of potatoes had knocked over a barrel of pipeweed. That would upset Bilbo!
Reluctantly Frodo got out of bed and went to fetch his dressing gown from the back of the door. Once belted into its warmth the lad fetched and lit his candle at the fire and then made his way out into the passage. All was quiet again. Maybe he had imagined it?
Frodo crept down the tunnel into the darker recesses of Bag End. When he had first come to live at Bag End Bilbo had told him that a troll lived in the furthest pantry. It was Bilbo's amusing way of protecting his pipe weed store from a curious tween but it had given the sensitive and imaginative Frodo nightmares for months and he still felt uneasy about that pantry.
Now he entered that room with held breath and swept his candle around to view the stacks of barrels and boxes, sacks and jars. All seemed in its place. A nicely finished door way lead into the final, newly built pantry. Frodo knew not much was stored there yet. A few sacks of potatoes and some bottles which Frodo had been warned away from with threats of dire consequences to his behind should he so much as disturb the dust on them. Bilbo had only ever spanked Frodo twice but the lad did not want to take the chance, Bilbo was an old fashioned hobbit and spankings usually took place with the aid of his desk ruler – which was rather a heavy one. In the seven years since the biggest rascal at Brandy hall had come to live at Hobbiton he was much reformed.
There it was again! A low shuffling and a sniffing! With irrational panicy thoughts of the troll Frodo had just decided to go and wake Bilbo when there was a snarl, something low and heavy rushed into his shins, and he just caught a flash of white before the candel flew out of his hand to expire on the floor. He had time for one almighty yelp of fright, and he too was crashing to the floor, felled by the heavy body of the mysterious beast, taking with him a whole neat stack of flour barrels.
Bilbo was awakened from deep sleep by the most awful series of noises he had heard since Smaug brought half the mountain down upon the dwarves. He sat up, his heart hammering, in time to fully catch a yell from somewhere deep in the smial and the crashing of wood on tiles. He was up out of bed, candle lit, and scampering down the hall before you could say "Arkenstone of Thrane". Bilbo might be old but he could still react to an emergency like a trained burglar.
He arrived in the pantry to a scene of chaos. Frodo, covered in flour, was lying on the tiled floor. The elder hobbit hardly had time to take in the scene before his attention was captured by a snarl. Backed into a space between two packing crates was the low compact body of one of the largest badgers Bilbo had ever seen in his life.
Shocked into immobility Bilbo could only stare at the large beast as it stared back at him with bright dark eyes. Its white mask was part covered in earth which only served to heightened the gleam of its teeth as it snarled at this new intruder. It took a little moan from the lad on the floor to galvanise Bilbo back into action. Seizing an onion from the top of an open sack he threw it with unerring accuracy to catch the badger right on the end of its sensitive nose. Bilbo caught up several more onions before the first one had hit and used them to drive the creature back out into the new pantry – whereupon he slammed the door upon the creature and clicked the latch into place.
Hardly pausing to catch his breath Bilbo was at Frodo's side. "Frodo! Frodo lad! Are you hurt?"
Frodo looked up with eyes wide with shock. "How on earth did a badger get in here?"
"Probably through that unfinished wall. We must have excavated practically into its set!" Bilbo berated himself for being the worst kind of fool of a hobbit. "Did you hit your head?"
Frodo reached up with a shaky hand to brush a cloud of flour from his hair. "No, I don't think so....."
"It was probably much more frightened of you than you were of it," Bilbo said. He sat down to sit by the lad, having to admit to himself that the badger had given him quite a scare too. There is nothing like being wakened from a sound sleep to find an intruder in the back pantry. Bilbo looked at Frodo. The boys blue eyes were huge with shock in his otherwise flour-covered face. He chose that moment to sneeze and a little cloud of white dust rose into the air. Bilbo could not help it – his mouth twitched, he smiled, and then he chuckled. The lad really did look very comical sitting on the pantry flour covered in flour and looking totally surprised to find himself there.
Frodo grinned back and began to giggle.
Soon the two cousins were falling over each other on the pantry floor helpless with laughter. Everytime Bilbo managed to get himself under control Frodo would let out another spluttering giggle and they would both start off again.
By the time they finished both were drained, panting for breath and tears streaming down their faces.
"Come, let's get you cleaned up my boy."
Leaning on each other they made a sort of hopping progress down the corridor well enough until they gained the bathroom door. There Frodo leant for a moment to catch his breath.
"How are you doing lad?" Bilbo looked into Frodo's face to see the flour now streaked by tears and he could feel Frodo shaking. "Alright, onto the stool with you."
Bilbo tried to leaver Frodo down onto the small three-legged stool but the boy was becoming a heavier weight in his arms. "I'm sorry Bilbo," he whispered. "I feel all shaky."
"I know my lad. Lets sit you down on the rug. You've had a bit of a shock is all? Here you clean off your face whilst I put the kettle on." Leaning Frodo against the bathtub Bilbo ran as fast as he could to the kitchen. He grabbed up several things, including the kettle which was always kept warming on the hearth and a mug. When he got back to the bathroom Frodo had whipped more of the flour from his face but it had not improved the lads pal our.
Bilbo set down his supplies – including the little wooden box which held his medicinal supplies – mostly Bell Gamgee's home remedies, and so tried and proven over the years of raising six healthy children. He selected a few items now and put some herbs to steep in a bowl of hot water poured from the kettle. Frodo took a deep, is slightly shaky breath of the aroma and sagged back against the bathtub as his uncle moved round to hold him close. "There, there my boy."
"I'm sorry," Frodo whimpered. "I am so sorry!"
"What ever have you to be sorry for lad?" the old hobbit asked concerned.
"I am not very brave."
Bilbo hugged Frodo closer offering what comfort he could. "Here," he fished another small bottle out of his chest. "Take a couple of drops of this onto the back of your tongue. I will make you some hot milk."
Bilbo held the shaking lad until he seemed to be calmed. "Lets get you into a clean nightshirt."
Feeling very pathetic but as limp as a dishrag Frodo let Bilbo help him into a clean nightshirt. Once dressed and the worst of the flour out of his chestnut curls Bilbo stooped down and lifted Frodo up into his arms.
"Uncle!" Frodo protested.
Bilbo humphed. "Well, I think I can get you as far as my bed. But you really are getting a little too big to do this."
Frodo settled down whilst Bilbo carried him rather awkwardly out into the hall. He remembered when he had been little enough to sit on Bilbo's shoulders to be taken down to market or into the village. He used to pretend to be a Ranger and Bilbo his faithful horse.
Now though Bilbo carried him through a door way off the corridor.
"This is your room!" Frodo protested.
"Nearer to the kitchen," Bilbo replied. "And I don't think I can carry you any further."
Frodo giggled again and Bilbo dropped him into the bed. "Now scoot under the covers and get warm while I fetch the tea."
Frodo burrowed into Bilbo's big bed. He loved Bilbo's bedroom – it was so interesting. The large room must once have been Bilbo's parents. It smelt of wood polish and pipeweed. It was dominated by a large old-fashioned bed that could easily accommodate about four hobbits. Mostly now it was filled with large fluffy pillows and Bilbo's huge burgundy eiderdown and a couple of books.
The large hearth still contained a nicely made up fire and by the side of it was the old rocking chair which Frodo knew of old as an elf ship for sailing to the undying lands. All the furniture was heavy and old fashioned, the wardrobe, chests and bookcases. The room was much neater than Bilbo's study but still piled with books, candle holders, a few maps and scrolls. Bilbo's stick and pack leant by the door – ready Bilbo always said, in case any wizards came knocking on the door.
There were all sorts of mementoes from Bilbo's wanderings – most of which Frodo could not identify. Strange elvish objects.
At last the owner came back into his room and set a tea tray on the bedside table. Of course the tray not only contained mugs of milk but also a selection of biscuits and little cakes – just in case. Bilbo surveyed his small charge in the bed. The colour was starting to return to tear stained cheeks, and as he watched, Frodo yawned cavernously.
"Here, drink this and then to sleep with you my lad."
Frodo sat up on a pillow. "Would you tell me a story? Only... not a scary one."
Bilbo chuckled. "No, I think you have had enough scares for one night. Move over then."
Bilbo settled back against the headboard and Frodo sipped his drink. The boy then squirmed over and fitted himself beneath his guardians arm. Bilbo was very nice and solid and comforting. He was feeling better, and warm and sleepy and though Bilbo did start his story Frodo did not hear a lot of it.
end