Disclaimer: All hobbits portrayed in this piece of fan fiction belong to Mr. Tolkien. I lay no claim to them.
Summary: Bilbo thinks on how Frodo came to live with him and how he has made his life so much more enjoyable and purposeful since he came to Bag End. He also makes a decision.
A/N All spelling mistakes are on purpose, as I am trying to write the way someone sounds when they have a cold.
I entered Frodo's room after I had thrown away all of the china. His eyes were red and puffy and he seemed to have been crying. I hated the thought of waking him, so I sat silently, reading in the armchair. I thought back to before Frodo had come to Bag End. Life had been so, well, so dreary without him. I was getting old and I had begun to feel it, even though I was far from looking it. I allowed my mind to wander, taking me back to a few months after his parents died.
***Begin Flashback***
I had gone to Buckland to pay Frodo a visit and see how he was getting on. Within those first few days I had seen little of him. He was always locked away in his room (voluntarily, of course) or dabbling in the brook that ran just past the house. It was because he had played in it at dusk that I could finally spend some time with him. The poor lad had caught a frightful cold that morning and was not permitted out of bed. He had wanted to read, but found that his head and eyes were weak, so he had very little to amuse himself with.
I had come into his bedroom with a plateful of tempting dishes that his aunt had sent to him. He wasn't eating the way he should have been, and hadn't been, she told me earlier in my stay, since Drogo and Primula were drowned. I knocked on the door. "Frodo, it's me, may I come in?
"Cub id Bilbo." Came the stuffy reply.
He was sitting up looking miserable. His nose and eyes were very red and he had handkerchiefs wadded up around him and one clutched tightly in his hand. Before him lay a thick picture book that I had sent him for our birthday. The pictures were very brightly colored and seemed to jump off the pages. It was drawn by the elves in Rivendell and brought to me by Gandalf. I thought that my young cousin would like it better than I would, however, and put it away for a special occasion. Esmerelda told me that he looked at it every time he was ill or otherwise confined to his bed. There were few words, so it didn't make his head ache, but the pictures told thousands of stories by themselves. When he was feeling better he would write the stories that he made up and keep them in a special box that used to belong to his grandmother. Once, when he and his parents were visiting Bag End he read them to me. I had a terrible case of the flu, and was laid up in bed myself, so Frodo decided that he was going to take care of me. His mother laughed as he sat at the foot of my bed reading out loud the stories he had written while I looked at the picture it belonged to. She told me later that I was the first person he had ever shared his work with. To this day I feel honored when I think about that.
"How Are you feeling? Are you hungry?" I placed a hand on his forehead, it was warm. I wasn't sure what a normal temperature was supposed to feel like, as it's rather hard to tell from feeling ones own brow, but his was definitely much warmer than is usual.
"Doe, I'b dot hudgry, thadk you. By head hurts sobthing awful ad I cad't breath right. But aside frob that I feel great." He blew his nose and winced as his ears popped. "Ow, well I cad hear better dow. Did you wadt to talk to be, Bilbo?" He looked up at me with a puzzled expression on his face. Hadn't he guessed that I was there only to see him? I thought not, as he had been avoiding me all this time.
"Yes my boy, I wanted to talk to you. How have you been these past few months? I know I haven't been to see you as much as I had hoped, but…" I cut myself off. But what? But I have been too busy? But I forgot about you? But I didn't want to be reminded of what I lost when your parents had died? I opted for the least offensive tactic. "But I have been so busy with things. You understand, don't you?"
He hung his head. "Yes, I udderstad. It seebs everybody's too busy dow a-days. I feel so id the way. Like I don't belog with adybody." He sniffled, this time from more that his cold. "It just hurts sobtimes, you doe?" Then he was quiet.
I had never felt so ashamed of myself. I took him in my arms and just let him cry, reminding myself that he was no more that a frightened sick child who needs care, love and understanding and no one seemed to be able to find the time to give it to him. I made up my mind then and there that I was going to give it to him as soon as possible. I waited until he fell asleep in my arms then stole out of the room to have a talk with Esmerelda and Saradoc.
"That is out of the question, Bilbo Baggins!" Saradoc was angry, and I can't say that I could blame him. After all, if someone came to me out of the blue and asked to take my nephew home to live with them, I would be upset too.
Esmerelda was kinder, "What he means," she shot a glare to her brooding husband, "Is that we feel that Frodo would miss out on so much if he lived at Bag End. He would never be around people…" She stopped suddenly, embarrassed at the fact that she had just called me a hermit, which I am not. "I'm sorry dear, what I mean to say is that Frodo was given to us to look after, and we have to do that. He's our responsibility."
"Bilbo, it's not that we don't trust you," Saradoc seemed to have calmed down, "It's just that a whole house of people would know what's best for a child better than one."
I nodded, I could see their point. But I wasn't done. "I understand. But I also love him as if he were my own. I would like to have him visit me as often as possible, an old hobbit like me needs someone to help him stay young, you know."
"Of course he can visit you," Esmerelda said, obviously trying to sooth my feelings, "Just send word to us and say when you would like him to come."
I nodded again, then rose from my seat. "Now if you will excuse me, I want to sit with my nephew."
***End Flashback***
I sighed, it had been many years until I convinced them that Frodo was old enough to live with me. I stood up suddenly. After all that work to get him to come here, was I really going to give him up that easily? No, I was not. I wanted him here and felt that I could do a good job bringing him up the rest of the way. I loved him as much, if not than, the Brandybucks did, them having their own holy terror, I mean, sweet young bundle of energy to contend with. No, Merry is not a holy terror, he's just very enthusiastic. I had always known that I wanted him to stay, now I knew that I needed him to stay. Perhaps I did have selfish reasons, but I also had a feeling that he was happy here. At least I hoped he was happy here.
I watched the small figure stir in his sleep, uncovering himself as he did so. I gently rearranged the covers under his chin and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Frodo Baggins." I whispered in his ear. Then, taking the lamp with me, I left the room to gather up some blankets. I would sleep in Frodo's room until he was well again. He needed me.
A/N I'm sorry it took me so long to write this and hope you all enjoyed it. I want to say thank you to Hermione Eveningfall for beta-reading this and giving me her input on ways that I can make it better. Thanks to the ones who have reviewed it as well.
Summary: Bilbo thinks on how Frodo came to live with him and how he has made his life so much more enjoyable and purposeful since he came to Bag End. He also makes a decision.
A/N All spelling mistakes are on purpose, as I am trying to write the way someone sounds when they have a cold.
I entered Frodo's room after I had thrown away all of the china. His eyes were red and puffy and he seemed to have been crying. I hated the thought of waking him, so I sat silently, reading in the armchair. I thought back to before Frodo had come to Bag End. Life had been so, well, so dreary without him. I was getting old and I had begun to feel it, even though I was far from looking it. I allowed my mind to wander, taking me back to a few months after his parents died.
***Begin Flashback***
I had gone to Buckland to pay Frodo a visit and see how he was getting on. Within those first few days I had seen little of him. He was always locked away in his room (voluntarily, of course) or dabbling in the brook that ran just past the house. It was because he had played in it at dusk that I could finally spend some time with him. The poor lad had caught a frightful cold that morning and was not permitted out of bed. He had wanted to read, but found that his head and eyes were weak, so he had very little to amuse himself with.
I had come into his bedroom with a plateful of tempting dishes that his aunt had sent to him. He wasn't eating the way he should have been, and hadn't been, she told me earlier in my stay, since Drogo and Primula were drowned. I knocked on the door. "Frodo, it's me, may I come in?
"Cub id Bilbo." Came the stuffy reply.
He was sitting up looking miserable. His nose and eyes were very red and he had handkerchiefs wadded up around him and one clutched tightly in his hand. Before him lay a thick picture book that I had sent him for our birthday. The pictures were very brightly colored and seemed to jump off the pages. It was drawn by the elves in Rivendell and brought to me by Gandalf. I thought that my young cousin would like it better than I would, however, and put it away for a special occasion. Esmerelda told me that he looked at it every time he was ill or otherwise confined to his bed. There were few words, so it didn't make his head ache, but the pictures told thousands of stories by themselves. When he was feeling better he would write the stories that he made up and keep them in a special box that used to belong to his grandmother. Once, when he and his parents were visiting Bag End he read them to me. I had a terrible case of the flu, and was laid up in bed myself, so Frodo decided that he was going to take care of me. His mother laughed as he sat at the foot of my bed reading out loud the stories he had written while I looked at the picture it belonged to. She told me later that I was the first person he had ever shared his work with. To this day I feel honored when I think about that.
"How Are you feeling? Are you hungry?" I placed a hand on his forehead, it was warm. I wasn't sure what a normal temperature was supposed to feel like, as it's rather hard to tell from feeling ones own brow, but his was definitely much warmer than is usual.
"Doe, I'b dot hudgry, thadk you. By head hurts sobthing awful ad I cad't breath right. But aside frob that I feel great." He blew his nose and winced as his ears popped. "Ow, well I cad hear better dow. Did you wadt to talk to be, Bilbo?" He looked up at me with a puzzled expression on his face. Hadn't he guessed that I was there only to see him? I thought not, as he had been avoiding me all this time.
"Yes my boy, I wanted to talk to you. How have you been these past few months? I know I haven't been to see you as much as I had hoped, but…" I cut myself off. But what? But I have been too busy? But I forgot about you? But I didn't want to be reminded of what I lost when your parents had died? I opted for the least offensive tactic. "But I have been so busy with things. You understand, don't you?"
He hung his head. "Yes, I udderstad. It seebs everybody's too busy dow a-days. I feel so id the way. Like I don't belog with adybody." He sniffled, this time from more that his cold. "It just hurts sobtimes, you doe?" Then he was quiet.
I had never felt so ashamed of myself. I took him in my arms and just let him cry, reminding myself that he was no more that a frightened sick child who needs care, love and understanding and no one seemed to be able to find the time to give it to him. I made up my mind then and there that I was going to give it to him as soon as possible. I waited until he fell asleep in my arms then stole out of the room to have a talk with Esmerelda and Saradoc.
"That is out of the question, Bilbo Baggins!" Saradoc was angry, and I can't say that I could blame him. After all, if someone came to me out of the blue and asked to take my nephew home to live with them, I would be upset too.
Esmerelda was kinder, "What he means," she shot a glare to her brooding husband, "Is that we feel that Frodo would miss out on so much if he lived at Bag End. He would never be around people…" She stopped suddenly, embarrassed at the fact that she had just called me a hermit, which I am not. "I'm sorry dear, what I mean to say is that Frodo was given to us to look after, and we have to do that. He's our responsibility."
"Bilbo, it's not that we don't trust you," Saradoc seemed to have calmed down, "It's just that a whole house of people would know what's best for a child better than one."
I nodded, I could see their point. But I wasn't done. "I understand. But I also love him as if he were my own. I would like to have him visit me as often as possible, an old hobbit like me needs someone to help him stay young, you know."
"Of course he can visit you," Esmerelda said, obviously trying to sooth my feelings, "Just send word to us and say when you would like him to come."
I nodded again, then rose from my seat. "Now if you will excuse me, I want to sit with my nephew."
***End Flashback***
I sighed, it had been many years until I convinced them that Frodo was old enough to live with me. I stood up suddenly. After all that work to get him to come here, was I really going to give him up that easily? No, I was not. I wanted him here and felt that I could do a good job bringing him up the rest of the way. I loved him as much, if not than, the Brandybucks did, them having their own holy terror, I mean, sweet young bundle of energy to contend with. No, Merry is not a holy terror, he's just very enthusiastic. I had always known that I wanted him to stay, now I knew that I needed him to stay. Perhaps I did have selfish reasons, but I also had a feeling that he was happy here. At least I hoped he was happy here.
I watched the small figure stir in his sleep, uncovering himself as he did so. I gently rearranged the covers under his chin and kissed his forehead. "I love you, Frodo Baggins." I whispered in his ear. Then, taking the lamp with me, I left the room to gather up some blankets. I would sleep in Frodo's room until he was well again. He needed me.
A/N I'm sorry it took me so long to write this and hope you all enjoyed it. I want to say thank you to Hermione Eveningfall for beta-reading this and giving me her input on ways that I can make it better. Thanks to the ones who have reviewed it as well.