Hello my lovely readers! Here's the next chapter. I'm so, so sorry this took so long to for me to get out. I had this chapter done a few days ago, but then right when I was about to save it, MY COMPUTER FREAKING CRASHED AND I LOST ALL OF IT. So I had to rewrite it. I am still very, very bitter about this experience. -_-
TheChildGrim: I'm going to go into a bit more depth about Bilbo and Frodo's relationship, yes, and the Gaffer is Sam's father :) Thank you so much for reviewing~
The Miss America: Ah, thank you! And yes, all of the dwarves survived. My heart can't take writing about them being dead ;-; (it's quite pathetic.)
Sakurayuuki19: Thank you, thank you, thank you! 3
xXxOtAkU-444xXx: Ah, I'm so glad!
Guest: You. You I like. We think the same. ;)
C.G: I'm so glad you like it ^_^
Mona and Flame Shadow1: Thank you!
Guest: I wouldn't be so mean as to leave a story on such a cliffhanger :)
On with the story~
The first night home, Bilbo couldn't sleep at all.
After Frodo had murmured quietly that he was going to sleep and had walked to the guest room, Bilbo stayed up next to the fire, smoking his pipe and watching the flames dance.
It was uncomfortable staying being back in Bag End. Surreal. Besides a few missing, expensive things (he'd deal with those later), nothing had really changed. The air was still warm and dusty, with the many piles of books and papers spread around. The kitchen was still laden with various foods, like it had been before the dwarves had come.
The whole Shire had stayed the same. Had stayed happy. But Bilbo had most certainly not.
The worst part was that he couldn't leave, not anymore. He had to look after Frodo. He couldn't leave Frodo here with his cousins or take him to a new village—it wouldn't be fair to the small boy. He was traumatized and scared as it was with his parents' deaths and a new home, and he didn't need to be in a strange new land with tall Men or Elves.
On the other hand, though, maybe it could be a good thing. There were a lot of painful memories in the Shire, so perhaps moving would be a breath of fresh air. A new beginning, where they could hide from meddlesome relatives and wizards who would be always trying to get them to do favors…
Bilbo felt a chuckle bubble up in the back of his throat as he tapped out the ashes from his pipe. He'd been so desperate to get home through the whole journey to the Lonely Mountain, and now that he was back, he was trying to leave. Of course this would happen to him.
Heaving himself out of the chair, Bilbo grunted and immediately fell back into it, clutching his side. Breathing heavily, he pulled up his top off his stomach, peering closely at his bandages. A blotch of pinkish blood was starting to show over the wound on the stomach, creeping outward over the white strips of cloth.
Bilbo swallowed down his irritation, exhaustion quickly taking its place. He stayed sitting until the waves of pain had subsided into dull throbs before standing back up. He shuffled his way down the halls, running his hands over the rough walls of Bag End to simultaneously steady and refamiliarize himself with his home.
Sleep eluded him throughout the night, leaving Bilbo to stare at his ceiling and mull over his thoughts. They focused primarily on how the hell he was going to take care of a three-year-old (lots and lots and lots of help from Missus Gamgee seemed like the most logical answer to that problem—she'd be one of the few people in Hobbiton who wouldn't tut at his parenting skills or try to take Frodo away) but they did start to drift to darker corners, to the battle, to the exile, to the look of pure betrayal that Thorin wore when he found out about the Arkenstone…
That had probably been the worst. Seeing how Thorin's face had just…fallen, and how he'd worn an expression that Bilbo had only seen when he spoke about Erebor's fall. And then he had left, not saying a word until the day the battle had ended. Even then, it was to inform him that he was to leave as soon as possible, the hobbit's injuries be damned.
Bilbo ran a calloused finger over the scar on his cheek slowly, the corners of his lips turning downward at the memories.
And that's all they were now, he supposed—memories. He would never see Erebor again, neither would he be able to see its halls returned to their former grandeur nor it occupied with dwarven families. It was a sobering thought to realize that he wouldn't be able to see the profits of all the dwarves' and his hard work in the future. He wouldn't even get to see his friends.
But that was probably for the best. He hadn't had a chance to see any of the dwarves before he left Erebor with the elves, so he hadn't been forced to deal with their disappointment. It was bad enough seeing Thorin's, and he couldn't have taken to see all of theirs.
He stayed lying in bed until the sky outside of his window started to lighten, bringing with it the sounds of twittering birds and the quiet pitter-patter of little feet sneaking passed his door.
Bilbo breathed out heavily through his nose. "I'll be up in twenty minutes to make breakfast, Frodo," he called out to the boy, hearing the footsteps stop abruptly. Frodo mumbled something and then hurried back off down the hallway.
Bilbo puttered through the daily routine he needed to do to care for his wounds—take off the bandages, check for infection, carefully apply the elvish salve, put on new bandages, and then repeat on the other cuts and burns.
As he pulled on his white smock, the smell of bacon and sausage wafted under his nose, the muffled sound of sizzling coming from the direction of the kitchen. Frowning, he pulled his shirt fully on and poked his head out into the hallway, sniffing the air. He could hear the clatter of plates and cutlery being set at the table. Was…Frodo making breakfast? How would he know how to cook? He was only a child.
Bilbo stared at Frodo from the doorway. The small boy was flitting around the kitchen, setting the table and making sure the contents of the skillet wasn't burning on the stove. He hadn't noticed the older hobbit yet, absorbed in his task.
"What are you doing?" Bilbo asked blankly.
Frodo yelped, dropping his spatula. He fumbled, attempting to catch it before it hit the ground. In the process of doing so, the back of his hand brushing against the hot skillet, wrenching a cry of pain from his throat. He let the spatula fall, cradling his hurt hand to his chest.
"Are you hurt?" Bilbo immediately asked, grabbing a napkin from the table to wrap the boy's hand in.
Frodo shied away from Bilbo's hand like a frightened animal, fear flashing a cross his face. He ducked his head to hide it, rubbing his burn with his unhurt hand.
"I'm f-f-fine, Mr. Baggins," Frodo mumbled, keeping his hand from Bilbo's sight.
Bilbo gave Frodo a level look, making the boy shift uncomfortably. He made sure his moves were deliberate and didn't startle him as he took Frodo's injured hand. He internally sighed with relief when he saw that the burn wasn't bad.
"You shouldn't be around the stove," Bilbo admonished as he reached for one of the glasses on the water. He dabbed the napkin into it and wrapped it around Frodo's delicate hand. "You could have hurt yourself much worse."
Frodo's eyes widened, panicked. "You told me to make breakfast, sir," he whimpered.
"I said I'd make breakfast, Frodo," Bilbo sighed heavily, pushing the hobbitling to sit at the table. "I don't know how it was with Lobelia and Otho"—he did have a very keen idea of how it was, though—"but while you are under my care, you are under my care."
"I, I don't get what you mean, Mister Baggins," Frodo mumbled. He was nervously pulling at his sleeves, and Bilbo could see he was trembling.
"I'm saying," Bilbo elaborated, placing half of the bacon and sausage on Frodo's plate, "is that you don't have to prove why you should stay here. I'm not going to kick you out, Frodo."
He felt a flash of irritation towards his relatives when Frodo still didn't understand. He put the rest of the food on the plates, splitting them evenly between the two. Frodo stared at his share hungrily, swallowing hard. Did they even feed him?
"You don't need to do major chores," Bilbo said, sitting down across from his cousin. "Just pick up after yourself, and don't leave that much of a mess. I'll take care of the housework and cooking, so unless I ask you to do something of that sort, you don't need to do it. Are we understood?"
"Yes, Mister Baggins, sir," Frodo said without missing a beat. His hand was twitching towards the fork, eager to eat.
"And didn't I say you didn't have to call that?" Bilbo said, taking a bite out of a roll. "Just Bilbo. Or Uncle. Mister Baggins…doesn't fit me anymore. Alright?"
"Yes, sir—Bilbo," Frodo hurriedly corrected himself, cringing at having already slipped up.
Bilbo sighed. They would keep working on that. For now, they it was time to eat and to talk. Bilbo kept the conversation about little things—asking about what Frodo liked, what his hobbies were, things that should have been easy to answer. Yet Frodo seemed to struggle, taking far too long to respond, like he wasn't sure about what he liked or disliked. It was almost as if he had forgotten.
Hamfast seemed to arrive at just the right moment with his little son, Sam, who was a couple of years older than Frodo. Bilbo was furious, his face dark and dangerous, close to sprinting out and slitting Frodo's previous guardians' throats before they even knew what hit them.
"Maybe yeh should go take a walk, sir," Hamfast suggested as Sam greeted a hesitant Frodo cheerfully. "Clear yer head." He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. "There's a ranger that's been askin' 'bout yeh. Says he wants ta talk to yeh."
Bilbo's jaw clenched. "Do you know what he wanted?" he responded, turning his head so the hobbitlings couldn't hear him.
"No, sir, 'e wouldn't say," Hamfast responded. "'E said to meet 'em at the edge of the woods whenever yeh had the time. I can watch the little'uns while yeh're out—well, if yeh're gonna meet with 'em."
"I will," Bilbo said shortly.
He walked over to the front door, where he donned his cloak and attached his sword Sting to his hip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hamfast pale at the sight of a weapon. The gardener tilted his head away from Bilbo, throwing himself into keeping Sam and Frodo entertained.
Bilbo walked the lesser-used paths to avoid as much interaction with the other hobbits as possible, not wanting to have to deal with idle chitchat. He knew that he would have to be social with people eventually, for the sake of what was left of his and Frodo's reputations, but being seen wearing dark clothes and a weapon might not be the best.
It took Bilbo a good half hour to go reach where the Ranger was. The man was standing near a tree, out in the open (by Ranger standards) so Bilbo could find him. He had his cowl lowered over his eyes, hiding his identity.
"Good morning," he said politely, bowing slightly. "You are Master Baggins, I presume?"
"You are correct," Bilbo said stiffly. "May I ask as to why you were inquiring about me in town, Ranger?"
"I have a request and message from Lord Elrond of Rivendell," the Ranger supplied. "Since I didn't know your current place of residence, I had to ask around until I found a person who was willing to tell me your whereabouts."
"Fair enough," Bilbo conceded. He crossed his arms, muscles still tense and ready for a fight.
The Ranger produced a letter from one of his many pockets, handing it to Bilbo. He hobbit took it gingerly, watching the man as he inspected the letter. Lord Elrond's seal was indented into the circle of wax, keeping it closed. He couldn't see any indications that it had been opened before hand, which at least attested to the Ranger's trustworthiness.
The hobbit broke the seal with one finger, unfolding the heavy parchment and reading the elegant script that was scrawled across it. He read through it, and then froze. Bilbo read it again, and then reread it before it finally sunk in what was written.
The Ranger shifted uncomfortably a few minutes later when the hobbit still hadn't said anything. He had a basic idea of what was in the letter—Lord Elrond had given quick summary of what he was planning before sending him off with the letter, and he had no idea how Bilbo would react.
From what he'd heard, Mr. Baggins was a the epitome of a gentle hobbit—before the ordeal with Thorin Oakenshield and his dwarves, he'd been highly respectable, never doing anything particularly out of the ordinary and well-liked by his neighbors. He hadn't even held a sword before he had left he Shire. This hobbit, though, with a war-hardened face and a sword at his side, was quite different from that hobbit.
Bilbo let out a breath tightly. "If the wargs are being attracted by me, then shouldn't I just leave?" he asked shortly.
"It probably would only matter to some of the loners," the Ranger said. "The other packs would just stay and terrorize the hobbits. It would be best if you did as Lord Elrond suggested and patrol with us around the borders."
Bilbo refolded the letter and slipped it into his breast pocket. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline," he said coldly. "My nephew is currently under my care. Even if I did want to join you killing orcs, I have to raise him and provide a stable home, which is impossible if I'm continuously away and killing things."
"You'd be making the Shire safe for him and other children, though," the Ranger responded quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was have to return to Rivendell and have to face Lord Elrond's disappointment; he'd probably end up losing all of his pride in front of the elf by fearfully blubbering out apologies.
"I'm sure you and your men would be able to do that fine," Bilbo said. "If I see any wargs or orcs, though, I'll take care of them. I won't be actively searching, but I won't stand by and do nothing. Is that acceptable?"
"Of course it is, Master Baggins," the man said, bowing. "Lord Elrond will be greatly pleased."
"Give him my well wishes and gratitude for his help," Bilbo said. Out of politeness, he asked, "Are you spending the night in the Shire? You are welcome to stay at Bag End if you can't get a room at the inn…"
"Thank you, sir, but no," the Ranger responded. "My orders are to return as soon as possible." Bilbo nodded.
They said their goodbyes cordially before going their separate ways.
Bilbo allowed his shoulders to relax when he was a good distance away from the Ranger. No matter how many times he's met Men, he always felt intimidated and wary of them. It wasn't that he thought that all of them were evil and bloodthirsty—he was just acutely aware of the fact that they could easily crush someone of his size just by sitting on him.
A twinge of guilt pinched Bilbo's heart. He felt morally obligated to help Lord Elrond with whatever he wanted, since the elf had personally healed him when he had arrived injured at Rivendell.
But at the moment, this was just something he couldn't do. He had a traumatized hobbitling sitting in his house, under his care, and he had to think about what was the best for him, now. And that was a loving guardian, who was always there and not simply popping in and out of his life sporadically. He'd definitely be keeping a very close eye out for any signs of wargs and orcs, though.
And if or when he did find warg tracks, there would be hell to pay.
Hamfast and the children were out in the yard when Bilbo finally came back. Hamfast was diligently grooming the garden, returning it to its former glory, while Sam chatted happily with a quiet yet content Frodo.
Frodo was the first to notice Bilbo was coming up the road. He straightened up, and Bilbo saw relief glimmering in his eyes. He probably thought I wasn't going to come back.
"Master Bilbo!" Hamfast raised a dirt-covered hand in greeting. "Everything go alright, sir?"
"Uh, yes," he said dazedly, ruffling Frodo's hair when he walked passed. "Yes, everything's fine." He would warn Hamfast about the dangers of the forests later, when the children weren't in hearing distance.
Bilbo took off his cloak and set it by the front door, setting his sword underneath it. Rolling up his sleeves, he started digging around the garden, ignoring his friend's complaints that he could do it himself, and that Bilbo should play with the children and rest with them.
"M'ster Bilbo?"
Bilbo looked up from digging out a prickly weed and saw Sam standing in front of him, arms behind his back and a bright smile on his face.
"What is it, Sam?" he asked, yanking the offending plant out of the ground.
"Da says you jus' got back fr'm a 'venture," he said with wide eyes. "Didja really?"
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Hamfast, who gave him a sheepish grin.
"I did," he told the young hobbit.
Sam bounced on the soles of his feet. "Can yeh tell me an' Frodo about it?" he begged enthusiastically. "We really want ta know!"
Bilbo grimaced. None of the stories about his time with the dwarves were…appropriate. Lots of violence and swearing.
"Now, Sam," Hamfast broke in, taking Bilbo's silence as irritation. "Leave Master Baggins alone. 'E prolly's not in the mood ta tell stories right now."
"It's okay, Hamfast," Bilbo interrupted. He tilted his head in thought. "Not much is stuff you would find interesting, Sam. It was a lot of walking and pony-riding, but there was a time with three trolls—"
"Trolls?!" Sam gasped, hands flying to his mouth. "They're real? Me Gram said that they were just a myth!"
"They're most certainly real," Bilbo assured him. "My travelling companions and I were almost eaten by them." Sam's face was filled with horrified delight.
"Oh, please, Mist'r Bilbo, tell us about that, please, please, please!"
The older hobbit glanced over at Hamfast, checking for his friend's approval. The Gaffer wore an expression similar to his son's, and he urged him eagerly to tell the story.
Bilbo told with story with growing confidence, getting into a rhythm the farther he went into the story. Frodo and Sam sat on a bench listening with rapt attention, hanging on to his every word. Occasionally, Sam would blurt out a question, and Hamfast would chastise him for interrupting before Bilbo would calmly answer him.
For the first time in a long, long time, Bilbo felt at ease.
That lasted as the sun began to set on the day, and Hamfast and his son had to leave.
"Can't we stay f'r dinner?" Sam whined, tugging at his dad's sleeve. "I wanna stay wit' Frodo an' play more."
"Yeh can come back tomorrow to play with 'im, Sam," Hamfast told him, grabbing his hand. "Yer Ma is waitin' for us at home, an' she'll be mighty furious if yeh don't eat dinner wit' 'er."
Sam pouted, but mumbled a 'yes, Da' and gave Frodo a bright smile.
"I'll come over t'morrow, yeah?" he said excitedly to his friend. "An' then we can go see if Merry an' Pip wanna play wit' us!"
Frodo still seemed flustered by the attention that Sam was giving him. His mouth shaped in a shaky smile, and he whispered to Sam that that sounded great. Frodo's head whipped up and he looked at Bilbo, desperate to make sure he hadn't done anything wrong. Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles.
Bilbo looked around the darkening hills, a frown making its way onto his face. Something wasn't right. It was too…silent in the forest. None of the birds were twittering, and there weren't any small animals disturbing the long grass. All of the hobbit mothers had dragged in their children and husbands for the night, firmly shutting their doors and blocking out any sounds from their homes.
"I think Frodo and I are going to walk you two home," he said slowly, donning his traveler's cloak and sword.
Worry flashed through Hamfast's face. "Should we just spend th' night?" he asked, scrutinizing all of the shadows.
"No, no," Bilbo said vaguely. "It's a pleasant night. A walk with friends would do us some good. Don't you think, Frodo?" His cousin, to no one's surprise, agreed with him without really thinking about it.
Hamfast swooped down and picked up Frodo and Sam, holding the light hobbitlings easily in his arms. As they walked down the path, Frodo and Sam chatted with each other for a while before drifting off into light dozes, cuddled into the Gaffer's neck. Bilbo kept his gaze sharp, his hand resting on the hilt of Sting. Keeping his voice low, Bilbo explained to his friend what the Ranger had told him about the wargs and orcs that had been spotted at the Shire's borders.
"You and the little'uns shouldn't go outside at night for awhile," Bilbo advised. "And don't let them into the woods, but if they have to, make sure someone's with them that has some type of weapon." Hamfast hung onto every word grimly, nodding his understanding.
Fortunately for them, they didn't run into any trouble as they reached their destination. Hamfast transferred a fully asleep Frodo into Bilbo's waiting hands before bidding farewell and hurrying inside. Mrs. Gamgee was at the door with the rest of her children squealing and running behind her, a cheery grin adorning her face.
"'Tis wonderful ta see yeh again, Master Baggins," she greeted him, pulling him into a hug, much to the surprise of both men. "An' this must be young Frodo? I haven't had a chance ta see 'em yet." She brushed the back of her knuckles across Frodo's baby-smooth cheek, gentle enough that he didn't wake up.
"You look wonderful, Bell," Bilbo said, stiffly letting the motherly hobbit go. "How are the children?"
"As loud and cheeky as ever," she responded in a huff, rolling her eyes and placing her hands on her hips. "I'd love ta catch up, but let's save it fer 'nother time. Ye and the young'un should get home b'fore it gets too dark."
Bilbo nodded, taking his leave with a warning to Mrs. and Mr. Gamgee to carefully watch their children. Mrs. Gamgee noticed that Bilbo was stone-faced and serious when he said this, but before she could ask why, her husband was leading her inside and closing the door behind them.
Bilbo walked down the path, the moonlight illuminating his way. It was still deathly silent, not even the insects humming in the undergrowth. It set his teeth on edge and made him tighten his grip on the soundly asleep Frodo. The first sound that he did hear, after a few minutes, was the splashing of water from behind the trees, where the Brandywine River ran. It sounded as if something was falling into the water.
Frodo immediately jerked awake, eyes trained at the area where the sound had come from. His small grip tightened in Bilbo's shirt.
"Don't go down there," he said desperately, sensing that Bilbo was about to veer off the path towards it.
"Why not?" he murmured, adjusting his hold on Frodo.
The boy turned his terrified gaze to his cousin. "There's something in the river," he whispered. "It gets people at night."
Bilbo heard the splashing again, followed by the sound of breaking tree branches. Frodo whimpered, burying his face in the juncture where Bilbo's neck and shoulder met. He was trembling uncontrollably, arms and legs wrapped tightly around the older hobbit.
"Please, please don't go over there," the hobbitling begged him. His breath was hitching, as if he were about to cry, but tears weren't gathering up in his eyes. "It's not safe, I don't want you to die like Ma and Da, please, Mister Bilbo."
"It's okay," Bilbo shushed him. He crouched down and set Frodo onto his feet, tenderly pushing the boy away so he could look into his face. "I have to go and check what it is, alright?"
"No!" Frodo wailed. "Please, Mister Bilbo! I don't wanna go back to Mrs. Lobelia and Mr. Otho!" His voice broke at their names, like even mentioning them caused him pain.
"You won't go back to them, Frodo," Bilbo assured him. He pulled Sting and its scabbard off his belt and held it between them. "I have a sword, see? I'm going to be fine. I'm just going to go down there for a few seconds, see what it is that's making those splashes, and then I'll be right back here. I'm not going to get hurt, I swear."
Frodo didn't look convinced, just…resigned. He wrapped his arms around himself and huddled in a ball next to a tree, practically hidden by a group of ferns. Bilbo took off his cloak and wrapped it around the smaller hobbit, making sure he was warm and settled.
"Stay here," Bilbo instructed him. "If you get scared or someone comes up to you, just come and get me." Frodo nodded, taking deep and calming breaths.
Bilbo kept his sword sheathed as he silently neared the river. If there was anything that was in it, he would come back the next day with the Rangers to deal with it. It would be too dangerous to try to face it in the middle of the night, when it was too dark to see everything.
The part he was nearing was a branch of the main river, and the water that should have been still had ripples disturbing its surface. The bottom was a murky black, the white moonlight bouncing off it. A few branches floated, leaves still attached, along with a mutilated, dead bird.
As Bilbo moved closer to the water's edge, he could see something moving under the water. It was about the height of a full-grown hobbit, but slim and scaly, like a fish. It ducked into the murky depths of the river before Bilbo could catch a good look at it, though. In a flash, though, it was back. It darted back up to the surface and grabbed the dead bird, most likely with its jaws, but it was hard to tell through the splashing water, before rushing back down to the bottom of the river.
Bilbo was greatly disturbed by that sight. There weren't supposed to be any dangerous fish in the Brandywine, especially something that size. That fish could easily eat a hobbit whole!
A horrified realization struck Bilbo.
That was probably what had gotten Primula and Drogo. Hamfast had said that their bodies weren't ever found, most likely getting carried by the current and getting tangled in some of the plants at the bottom of the river. But that was starting to seem less and less likely, when there was a beast in the river that ate meat.
Making sure to stay a good distance away, Bilbo tried to get another look at it. Picking up a rock, he chucked it into the center of the lake and waited for the beast to show itself again. After a few minutes of waiting—
A scream pierced the air, echoing around the forest.
Bilbo took off sprinting back down the path he had come down, his nephew's name repeating itself in his head. He drew his bright blue sword as he ran to Frodo, his heart in his throat.
Frodo was backed up against a tree with a pack of three wargs circling around him. They were drooling hungrily, jaws snapping at the hobbit and dark eyes searching for an opening. An orc was standing a few yards away from them, growling out orders to the animals in its guttural language. A nasty grin was spread over its face as it jumped up and down eagerly, gesturing madly at the scared hobbit boy.
Bilbo acted swiftly and without pause. He rushed to the closest warg and leaped onto its back, forcing Sting through the corded muscles in its neck. The warg let out a howl, black blood spurting out of the wound as Bilbo yanked his sword out. He stabbed again and again until the creature flopped over onto its side, lifeless.
Bilbo leaped off of it and twirled around, swinging his sword at the orc. The orc was fumbling to get his own rusting blade off his belt, but he was too slow. Sting cut through half of the orc's neck before it was stopped by bone. The orc screeched in pain, gnashing its scraggly and broken teeth in Bilbo's furious and blood-splattered face.
Planting his foot on the orc's chest, Bilbo pulled Sting out of it and kicked it onto the ground. He was about to attack one of the two wargs left when the other leapt at Frodo.
Frodo dove to the side, barely managing to escape the warg's lethal claws. The back of his shirt did get snagged by a few of the claws, and they sliced through the thin cloth with ease. Frodo stumbled away from his attacker, barely managing to catch himself before he tripped and fell.
Bilbo reached forward and grabbed the front of the young hobbit's shirt when he was close enough, yanking Frodo behind him. He kept himself in between them as the wargs prepared to another attack, muscles tensing and rippling beneath their matted fur.
One of them finally made a charge at Bilbo, mouth open in a snarl and claws outstretched. Before the warg got too close, an arrow came flying out of nowhere, piercing through its skull. It let out an aborted yip as two more followed in quick succession, embedding themselves into its body.
The other warg looked around jerkily, confused as to where the attack was coming from. More arrows flew towards them, slaying it before it lashed out at Frodo and Bilbo.
Two Rangers appeared out of the darkness, shouldering their bows. One of them was the Ranger from earlier that day, and he rushed over to Bilbo's side.
"Master Baggins, are you injured?" he asked urgently.
"I am fine," he panted, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand.
His gut clenched when he remembered Frodo's close call. He turned around and crouched next to the child, who was sitting behind him and still trembling. He maneuvered the trembling boy so his pale back glowed in the moonlight and he could see the damage.
The shirt was completely ruined, four long slashes going through it. The white material was stained a bright red from the gashes that the warg had left, and the blood was still leaking out.
That wasn't all. Underneath the crimson liquid and cuts, there were scars. Horrible, horrible scars that looked like they had only recently healed. They covered most of Frodo's back, a few crisscrossing over Frodo's upper arms.
"By the Valar," the Ranger breathed, taking in the wounds.
"Frodo?" Bilbo asked frantically, flipping Frodo over. "Are you alright? Can you here me?"
"I-I'm fine," Frodo sobbed, arms wrapping around Bilbo's neck. "I just wanna go home." He flinched violently when the Ranger tried to touch him, moving closer to his cousin to get away.
"These are serious," the Ranger muttered to Bilbo. A fire was burning behind his eyes as his hand hovered over one of the scars. "How far away is your home? I can carry him."
"I have him," Bilbo said, lifting Frodo up into his arms. "What about the bodies?"
"My partner has it," the Ranger said offhandedly, rushing into the bushes and grabbing a plain rucksack from the bushes. He threw it over his shoulders and they were running out of the woods onto the path.
The race to Bag End was a blur, and the next thing Bilbo knew, he was laying a barely lucid Frodo on his stomach on Bilbo's own bed, while the Ranger stoked the fireplace and started rummaging through his supplies, pulling out bandages and herbs.
Bilbo produced a bloodstained towel from a drawer and soaked it into the athelas-infused water the Ranger had mixed in a basin. He wrung it out, and then sat next to Frodo as he started to dab at the wounds.
Frodo hissed in pain, but held in his cries by biting his bottom lip. He wound his fists into the blanket, breathing quickly and shallowly.
"It's okay, Frodo," Bilbo tried to calm him. With his free hand, he hesitantly laid it over Frodo's fist. "Me and the Ranger are going to take care of you, alright?" Frodo let out an aborted sob, letting go of the sheets to grab Bilbo's hand.
"Help him up," the Ranger said, holding a mug of what seemed to be tea. "This will make most of the pain go away, okay, Frodo? Just take a few sips, there's a good lad." He lowered Frodo back onto his stomach.
The Ranger and Bilbo spent the next half hour tending to Frodo, cleaning the cuts thoroughly (who knew where those warg's claws had been) and bandaging him. The tea Frodo had been given made him tired, relaxed and more loose-lipped than usual, which was fortunate for the older man and hobbit.
Under their probing questions, Frodo revealed that the scars were, indeed, from Lobelia and Otho. They were punishment, he said, for various things he'd done wrong: dropping plates, crying too loudly, talking out of turn, not doing chores fast enough…
The Ranger had taken his leave quite quickly after that. He had been darkly cheerful as he instructed Bilbo on how to take care of his cousin, afterwards happily saying that he was going to give the Sackville-Bagginses a visit.
"Ranger."
The Ranger looked up from where he was packing up his bag, leaving some dried herbs on the table. He stopped momentarily and waited for Bilbo to speak.
Bilbo swallowed. "I've changed my mind," he sighed heavily. "I'll join you and the the others in clearing out the wargs." The Ranger smiled, nodding.
"That's wonderful," the Ranger said. "It will be a pleasure working with you."
"One last thing," Bilbo said. "What are you planning on doing with Lobelia and Otho?"
"Well, I would like to give them a taste of their own medicine, but that is frowned upon by the Rangers," he told Bilbo matter-of-factly, earning a dry chuckle. "So, I'll just take them up to the jail and leave them to decide their fate."
Bilbo nodded and bid the Ranger farewell.
Bilbo's own wounds were starting to hurt again. The adrenaline and pain medication had let him ignore it for most of the day, but now that he was winding down, he could feel it again.
"'Re you alr'ght, M'ster Bilbo?" Frodo slurred out, seeing Bilbo winced as the older hobbit pulled off his shirt.
"Now is most certainly not the time to worry about me, Frodo," Bilbo admonished him gently.
He changed into a pair of sleep pants, too exhausted to find a shirt. He made a mental note to make a larger than usual breakfast for the two of them when he dully remembered that they had skipped dinner.
"M'ster Bilbo, y're hurt, too," Frodo yawned as Bilbo clambered into the large, soft bed next to him.
"I got attacked by some orcs when I came back from the dwarves," Bilbo told him bluntly, pulling the blanket so it was over the younger's shoulders. "Hush, we'll talk in the morning. For now, you just need to sleep." Frodo mumbled something in agreement, eyelids falling heavily.
Frodo scooted closer to Bilbo almost immediately, fingers intertwining with Bilbo's and head resting on his shoulder. Bilbo froze, but he hesitantly put his arm around Frodo.
"Um. Bilbo?"
"Hm?" Bilbo hummed, keeping his eyes closed.
He felt petal-soft lips brush against his cheek. "Thanks f'r taking me in."
Bilbo couldn't wipe off the happy grin from his face as he pressed a kiss into Frodo's curly hair.
And now, to sleep for two hours before I have to get up and get ready for school. Yayy-ugh...
Thank you as always for reading!