I wish I was clever enough to have thought up Middle Earth and all its occupants and events….but I didn't. They all belong to JRR Tolkien and I'm just borrowing them. I hope he doesn't turn in his grave too much!
AN UNLIKELY HEIR
CHAPTER ONE
Bilbo closed his door on the retreating view of the cart, heading back down the road to Hobbiton. Turning in the hallway he yelped as he stubbed a toe on one of the boxes piled by the coat rack. Frodo's head popped out of his room as he heard his Uncle's exclamation.
"I'm sorry Uncle Bilbo. I'll move them." He rushed forward and picked up one of the boxes, setting it atop another and attempting to lift both. Bilbo sighed and set his hand on the top of the pile.
"Frodo. You'll hurt yourself carrying two. One at a time will do."
The younger hobbit looked up earnestly. "It's alright Uncle. I can manage." He waited for Bilbo to remove his hand but his Uncle just shook his head.
"It's not important, lad. One at a time will do. I'd rather be safe than sorry. It would never do for you to hurt yourself on your first night here." It had been difficult enough to get the various aunties and uncles at Brandybuck Hall to trust him with the upbringing of the lad and he had no intention of proving their fears correct within hours of Frodo arriving in his home.
Sighing at what he saw as his uncles over protectiveness Frodo relented, releasing his grip on the bottom box and lifting only the top one. He suffered in silence as Bilbo reached out to ruffle his curls, smiling.
"Good lad. You get this little lot into your room and I'll go and make us some tea. Don't bother unpacking. You can do that later." He set off down the hall to the kitchen, limping slightly. "I have a cherry tart. If I remember correctly, that's your favourite."
Tea was a rather quiet affair. Bilbo was not particularly worried, however. Frodo had chattered away like a whole flock of sparrows all the way here from Brandy Hall and the older hobbit suspected that it had been an attempt to cover his nervousness. Frodo had been to visit his Uncle a few times over the past ten years but this was the beginning of a whole new life for him, for them both, Bilbo reminded himself. Not for the first time, he worried about his ability to look after such a young hobbit. He was a confirmed bachelor and knew little of the needs of a tweenager, other than what he could remember of his own life. Still, Bell Gamgee had promised to help and she had raised six of her own.
Bilbo smiled as he saw his nephew eying the last piece of pie.
"Help yourself, Frodo. It was made especially for you. If you finish it off we can bake another tomorrow."
The young hobbit's hand paused in the act of reaching out and he looked questioningly at his Uncle. "Bake?"
Bilbo was stacking plates so he did not see Frodo's face. "Yes, of course, my lad. I've got some more cherries in the pantry and there's plenty of flour and such like. We can have a fresh one tomorrow." He reached for the tea pot and noticed that the piece of pie still sat in its dish. "Come on, now, I need that dish empty so that I can wash it," and he tipped the wedge on to Frodo's plate and stood to clear the table.
"Thank you, Uncle Bilbo," came the quiet reply.
When he had finished eating, Frodo brought his plate to Bilbo for washing and started drying the clean pots. When all had been dried and put away Bilbo smiled brightly at his nephew.
"Well, now. That's that job done. Now, lets go and sort out that bedroom of yours or you won't be able to get into the bed tonight."
It did not take long to unpack Frodo's few boxes. There were some personal things, including an old, battered teddy bear and a small portrait of Primula and Drogo, and an assortment of clean but miss matched and ill fitting clothes. Bilbo surveyed the accumulated wealth of twenty two years and compared it to the luxury of Bag End. The little hobbit's possessions hardly covered the bed. Here, at least, was something that he could start to mend.
With a poorly hidden smile Bilbo lifted one of the small heaps of shirts from the bed and handed them to his nephew.
"Why don't you go and put these in your press, over there?" The younger hobbit crossed obediently and opened the doors, looking for a convenient space when he found it already filled with fine clothes. Uncle Bilbo obviously kept his spare wardrobe in here.
"I'm sorry, Uncle. There doesn't appear to be any room. Never mind, I can put mine on the chair, over there." Bilbo covered his mouth as he coughed but Frodo was surprised to see his eyes twinkling.
"Oh dear. Well, if there's no room we could always just throw yours away. You can wear the ones in there, instead."
Frodo's eyes went wide. Frodo was very slight for his age and his uncle's clothes would be most unlikely to fit him. "It's very kind of you Uncle. But I don't think I would look right in such finery. I'll manage."
Bilbo jumped off the bed and relieved Frodo of his shirts. "Nonsense, my lad. Come over here and we'll take a look." He pulled down a brown tweed jacket with deep velvet lapels and held it up against Frodo. The young hobbit was surprised to find that it seemed to be the correct width across the shoulders. Bilbo was chuckling now.
"I was right about the colour. It does suit you. Mistress Willow thought it would be too dark but it goes well with your colouring. Try it on and let's see if she got the fit correct for she could not try it on you and we only had the measurements provided by your Aunt Ezmarelda."
It took a moment for the words to register and Frodo just stood still. His uncle shook his head and tugged off the old faded blue jacket. He had almost finished before Frodo began to co-operate. Then he held the new jacket for him while Frodo slipped his arms in. Bilbo led him across the room to the tall mirror set in the corner and Frodo's mouth fell open in such amazement that his uncle could not help but laugh. The jacket fitted perfectly, its soft fabric sleeked smoothly across his shoulders and flaring elegantly at his hips to drape in soft folds about his thighs. Tears gathered in his eyes as he turned suddenly and favoured his uncle with a strong hug. "Thank you, Uncle Bilbo."
Slightly embarrassed by such a display of emotion Bilbo patted his nephew on the back, a little awkwardly. "There now. If you react like that over a jacket wait until you see the breaches and the fine waistcoat that go with it." He led his nephew back to the press. "There are new linen shirts and undergarments and a couple of nightshirts, as well as some plainer breaches and jackets for everyday. Oh, and there's a good thick green cloak, somewhere." He watched with delight as Frodo began to investigate the shelves. "If you're going to live the life of a gentlehobbit we must have you looking the part."
They had spent a good two hours going through the clothes press for Bilbo had insisted that Frodo try on all the jackets and waistcoats to check the fit, but Mistress Willow had done them proud and not a fault could be found. By the time they had finished they had lit candles and Frodo was trying hard to stifle his yawns. When Bilbo noticed him trying to swallow the third one he realised just how long a day it had been for the tweenager.
"It's getting a bit late. You clear up in here and put on your nightshirt and dressing gown and I'll go and get us a bite of supper. Join me in the kitchen when you're finished." He patted Frodo on the head and left.
By the time he had put everything away and changed into the soft linen nightshirt and warm woollen dressing gown Frodo was quite sleepy. He lay down of the bed and closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that his Uncle would not mind him just having five minutes. Bilbo waited over half an hour, and then came to see what the matter was. If his nephew did not come to the table soon the cocoa would be cold.
When he opened the door the room was dark. The candle by Frodo's bedside had burned down and gone out and the young hobbit was curled up on his side, his back to the door. Bilbo tiptoed in and came around the bed, the flickering light of his candle glinting gold in his nephew's mass of chestnut curls. Dark lashed lids were drawn shut over impossibly blue eyes and the pale face was peaceful and still at last. Bilbo set down his candle and lifted his nephew so that he could fold down the blankets and sheets. The young lad hardly weighed a thing and the job of pulling down the covers and then drawing them over him and tucking them in was done easily. Frodo was so deeply asleep that his only reaction was a slight sigh as he snuggled deeper into the feather pillows.
For several minutes Bilbo stood watching him sleep, smoothing back a stray chestnut lock from the lad's forehead. He looked down at the innocent face and knew that there was no going back. Drogo's son had slipped in to his heart. He could not say that the road they were travelling would be smooth but he knew that he could not now envisage travelling that road without this child at his side.