Chapter Two---Blueberries and Blue Butterflies
Hello all! Before I kick off chapter two, I'd like to thank Hermione
Eveningfall for Bilbo's nickname for Frodo. *hug* Thanks, girl. ^^
I no own, you no sue. ;)
Also, a little reviewer response: Arwen Baggins: Oh, Drogo and Primmie don't care about that. Bilbo is just calling Frodo "his" lad as a term of endearment, something you will notice in the book.
Also, I was planning from the beginning to skip right to Frodo's adoption. There are plenty of wonderful stories about Frodo's life at Brandy Hall, but I plan to make this mainly a Frodo-Bilbo story. I'd love to see YOUR take on that portion of his life, though!
Please send your Oma my best wishes for her full recovery.
????: Thank you for being such a loyal reviewer, and congrats on your new baby brother! I'm sure he's adorable. ^^
Shirebound: Thank you for your reviews, and for pointing out my bad spelling. ^_^ Hee.
MLynnBloom: Frodo thanks you for the goodnight kiss, and sends a hug your way. :D
And now, on with the show!
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It had been two weeks since Bilbo's big announcement of his plan to adopt Frodo. The idea had been met with surprise and some speculation from many of the residents of Brandy Hall, but Esme and Saradoc had agreed it was what was best for the lad in the long run, and they were both happy for him. Frodo himself was still settling in, but having stayed at Bag End many times he was already pretty comfortable. Bilbo was doing everything he could to make the transition easy for the boy, and was spending as much time as he could with him. Frodo was very shy, and he preferred the company of his beloved uncle to that of lads his own age, although he missed his cousin little Merry terribly. Try as he might, Bilbo was having trouble getting Frodo to come out of his shell.
As for Bilbo himself, he had found taking care of his nephew was quite easy. He rarely asked for anything from his Uncle, but Bilbo knew he would give the boy whatever he wanted if he did. Frodo was so mature and quiet for his age, sometimes Bilbo forgot the lad was only a tween. Even the way Frodo dressed was mature. He preferred deep maroons, dark blues, and velvets to the simple, rustic patterns and colors the other children wore.
One beautiful morning in spring, Bilbo was overtaken by a desire to get some fresh air after being holed up in his study writing for most of the wee hours. Frodo had been sleeping late, and had just woken up when Bilbo began making breakfast.
"Hullo Uncle," he yawned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, as he padded into Bag End's sunny kitchen. His dark hair was still messy and stuck out at all angles, and he wore an oversized silk nightshirt that appeared to hang on his tiny frame. Bilbo smiled at the sight of him.
"Good morning, my lad! Breakfast is ready! I made hotcakes, just how you like them."
"With blueberries?"
"Of course." Uncle and nephew grinned to each other, sat down, and began to eat breakfast. To Bilbo's delight, Frodo got through two small stacks of pancakes. In his opinion, the lad was far too thin for a Hobbit, and didn't eat nearly enough for a growing tween. As Frodo poured syrup on hotcakes, he smiled shyly and said quietly, "Thank you so much for letting me live with you Uncle Bilbo. I really do love it here."
"It was my pleasure, lad." Bilbo was touched. Frodo was such a caring soul, although sometimes too much for his own good. He tended to care for others first and put himself last.
"But now he finally has someone to look out for him alone," Bilbo thought to himself as Frodo munched away happily. "He has me."
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After breakfast, Frodo helped Bilbo clean up the kitchen. When they were done, Bilbo suggested they take a hike.
"Oh, can we Bilbo? That sounds like fun." Frodo took his Uncle's hand.
Bilbo chuckled. "Of course, my boy. Let's get going. We'll be back by second breakfast, I should think. I've wanted to get some fresh air, anyhow."
In a few minutes, Bilbo and Frodo were ready to go. Frodo had changed into his clothes, and Bilbo packed a snack for them along the way. Walking out of Hobbiton, Frodo noticed a group of boys playing tig. They were laughing loudly, and they all looked very big and strong. Among them, Frodo picked out Falco Boffin and Lotho Sackville. Lotho saw Frodo, and yelled something his way that caused the other boys to laugh. Frodo sighed, and continued walking.
"What is it lad?" Bilbo asked, concerned. He put his hand on his nephew's shoulder, and Frodo looked up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears.
"It's, it's just that dreadful Lotho Sackville-Baggins. He's always saying rude things about me. And he's saying things about you, as well!"
"What is he saying?" Bilbo sat down next to Frodo, who had stopped walking and taken shelter under a tree.
"He says you're cracked, Bilbo. And that I'm cracking," Frodo responded.
"My lad, the next time he talks to you like that, tell him you're cracking, and proud of it! I've heard every name in the Shire called to me in my time, and it just isn't worth it to pay attention. You know, and I know, what they're saying isn't true, so why not enjoy it a little, hmm?"
"Thank you Uncle. I'll try that." Frodo smiled a bit, and Bilbo patted his shoulder. "I know I shouldn't listen...It's just...I don't mind so much what they say about me...But I don't like to hear what they say about you. They should respect you, Uncle!" He exclaimed, his usually placid tone tinged with anger.
"I know, Frodo. I know. And I thank you. But let me tell you something. I've known Lobelia and Otho all my life, and Lotho since he was born. And one thing I've figured out is this: they're never going to change. They are nasty, rotten Hobbits, and we just have to ignore them, all right?"
"All right," Frodo nodded, his mood clearly brightened. "Let's keep going, now. I'm starting to get hungry!"
Bilbo laughed, and stood up, following his nephew down the old dirt path.
The two Hobbits continued walking down the wooded path, talking, but generally enjoying each other's company in companionable silence, punctured only by Frodo's occasional sneezing from the flowers that surrounded them.
"My poor lad," Bilbo laughed to himself as he handed Frodo a handkerchief, "he really doesn't have the hardiest of noses."
About halfway down the path, Frodo noticed what looked like a shining blue glint in the air, and he pointed to Bilbo excitedly.
"Look Bilbo! It's a butterfly! Isn't it beautiful?" Frodo began to chase after it, laughing.
Bilbo smiled. Frodo was usually so serious and mature, and it was nice to see him have moments of innocent, childlike wonder.
"It is beautiful, silme," Bilbo agreed, using his special pet name for Frodo*. "Its wings are the same color as your eyes. Bilbo pointed to the butterfly, which was hovering over a bright orange flower. Its wings were iridescent, and when the sunlight struck them the appeared a bright, pure sky color.
"I'm going to follow it, and explore some more. May I, Uncle?" Frodo asked eagerly.
"Of course. I'm just going to be over there, reading a bit. Don't go where I can't see you from there, all right?" Frodo nodded and ran off, waving to his uncle as he went. Bilbo walked over to his spot by the tree, opened his book, and began to read.
A few minutes later, however, he decided to close his eyes for a nap. The bright sunlight dappled through the trees was making him drowsy, and before he drifted off, Bilbo swore it would only be for a little while.
"Frodo is still where he was five minutes ago. Nothing can possibly happen," he reasoned as he began to doze deeply.
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Bilbo yawned and stretched as he awoke.
"Ahhhh. How refreshing. I am hungry now, however. I'll just get Frodo and we can have our snack," he thought, looking around for his nephew.
After he had looked once quickly, and then again, Bilbo realized something was amiss. He began to panic, searching everywhere for Frodo, but to no avail.
"Sticklebacks. Where is that lad?" He shouted to no one. "Frodo, where are you? It's Bilbo!" He was now frantic, and desperate.
After what seemed like hours of searching, Bilbo sat down under his tree once more, head in his hands.
"How could you be so stupid, Bilbo Baggins! Your lad is out there in the woods, all alone, and it's no one's fault but your own. How could you be so stupid..."
Bilbo put his head in his hands, and began to cry.
TBC...;)
*silme means "starlight" in Elvish
Also, a little reviewer response: Arwen Baggins: Oh, Drogo and Primmie don't care about that. Bilbo is just calling Frodo "his" lad as a term of endearment, something you will notice in the book.
Also, I was planning from the beginning to skip right to Frodo's adoption. There are plenty of wonderful stories about Frodo's life at Brandy Hall, but I plan to make this mainly a Frodo-Bilbo story. I'd love to see YOUR take on that portion of his life, though!
Please send your Oma my best wishes for her full recovery.
????: Thank you for being such a loyal reviewer, and congrats on your new baby brother! I'm sure he's adorable. ^^
Shirebound: Thank you for your reviews, and for pointing out my bad spelling. ^_^ Hee.
MLynnBloom: Frodo thanks you for the goodnight kiss, and sends a hug your way. :D
And now, on with the show!
***************************************************
It had been two weeks since Bilbo's big announcement of his plan to adopt Frodo. The idea had been met with surprise and some speculation from many of the residents of Brandy Hall, but Esme and Saradoc had agreed it was what was best for the lad in the long run, and they were both happy for him. Frodo himself was still settling in, but having stayed at Bag End many times he was already pretty comfortable. Bilbo was doing everything he could to make the transition easy for the boy, and was spending as much time as he could with him. Frodo was very shy, and he preferred the company of his beloved uncle to that of lads his own age, although he missed his cousin little Merry terribly. Try as he might, Bilbo was having trouble getting Frodo to come out of his shell.
As for Bilbo himself, he had found taking care of his nephew was quite easy. He rarely asked for anything from his Uncle, but Bilbo knew he would give the boy whatever he wanted if he did. Frodo was so mature and quiet for his age, sometimes Bilbo forgot the lad was only a tween. Even the way Frodo dressed was mature. He preferred deep maroons, dark blues, and velvets to the simple, rustic patterns and colors the other children wore.
One beautiful morning in spring, Bilbo was overtaken by a desire to get some fresh air after being holed up in his study writing for most of the wee hours. Frodo had been sleeping late, and had just woken up when Bilbo began making breakfast.
"Hullo Uncle," he yawned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, as he padded into Bag End's sunny kitchen. His dark hair was still messy and stuck out at all angles, and he wore an oversized silk nightshirt that appeared to hang on his tiny frame. Bilbo smiled at the sight of him.
"Good morning, my lad! Breakfast is ready! I made hotcakes, just how you like them."
"With blueberries?"
"Of course." Uncle and nephew grinned to each other, sat down, and began to eat breakfast. To Bilbo's delight, Frodo got through two small stacks of pancakes. In his opinion, the lad was far too thin for a Hobbit, and didn't eat nearly enough for a growing tween. As Frodo poured syrup on hotcakes, he smiled shyly and said quietly, "Thank you so much for letting me live with you Uncle Bilbo. I really do love it here."
"It was my pleasure, lad." Bilbo was touched. Frodo was such a caring soul, although sometimes too much for his own good. He tended to care for others first and put himself last.
"But now he finally has someone to look out for him alone," Bilbo thought to himself as Frodo munched away happily. "He has me."
***************************************************************
After breakfast, Frodo helped Bilbo clean up the kitchen. When they were done, Bilbo suggested they take a hike.
"Oh, can we Bilbo? That sounds like fun." Frodo took his Uncle's hand.
Bilbo chuckled. "Of course, my boy. Let's get going. We'll be back by second breakfast, I should think. I've wanted to get some fresh air, anyhow."
In a few minutes, Bilbo and Frodo were ready to go. Frodo had changed into his clothes, and Bilbo packed a snack for them along the way. Walking out of Hobbiton, Frodo noticed a group of boys playing tig. They were laughing loudly, and they all looked very big and strong. Among them, Frodo picked out Falco Boffin and Lotho Sackville. Lotho saw Frodo, and yelled something his way that caused the other boys to laugh. Frodo sighed, and continued walking.
"What is it lad?" Bilbo asked, concerned. He put his hand on his nephew's shoulder, and Frodo looked up at him, eyes wet with unshed tears.
"It's, it's just that dreadful Lotho Sackville-Baggins. He's always saying rude things about me. And he's saying things about you, as well!"
"What is he saying?" Bilbo sat down next to Frodo, who had stopped walking and taken shelter under a tree.
"He says you're cracked, Bilbo. And that I'm cracking," Frodo responded.
"My lad, the next time he talks to you like that, tell him you're cracking, and proud of it! I've heard every name in the Shire called to me in my time, and it just isn't worth it to pay attention. You know, and I know, what they're saying isn't true, so why not enjoy it a little, hmm?"
"Thank you Uncle. I'll try that." Frodo smiled a bit, and Bilbo patted his shoulder. "I know I shouldn't listen...It's just...I don't mind so much what they say about me...But I don't like to hear what they say about you. They should respect you, Uncle!" He exclaimed, his usually placid tone tinged with anger.
"I know, Frodo. I know. And I thank you. But let me tell you something. I've known Lobelia and Otho all my life, and Lotho since he was born. And one thing I've figured out is this: they're never going to change. They are nasty, rotten Hobbits, and we just have to ignore them, all right?"
"All right," Frodo nodded, his mood clearly brightened. "Let's keep going, now. I'm starting to get hungry!"
Bilbo laughed, and stood up, following his nephew down the old dirt path.
The two Hobbits continued walking down the wooded path, talking, but generally enjoying each other's company in companionable silence, punctured only by Frodo's occasional sneezing from the flowers that surrounded them.
"My poor lad," Bilbo laughed to himself as he handed Frodo a handkerchief, "he really doesn't have the hardiest of noses."
About halfway down the path, Frodo noticed what looked like a shining blue glint in the air, and he pointed to Bilbo excitedly.
"Look Bilbo! It's a butterfly! Isn't it beautiful?" Frodo began to chase after it, laughing.
Bilbo smiled. Frodo was usually so serious and mature, and it was nice to see him have moments of innocent, childlike wonder.
"It is beautiful, silme," Bilbo agreed, using his special pet name for Frodo*. "Its wings are the same color as your eyes. Bilbo pointed to the butterfly, which was hovering over a bright orange flower. Its wings were iridescent, and when the sunlight struck them the appeared a bright, pure sky color.
"I'm going to follow it, and explore some more. May I, Uncle?" Frodo asked eagerly.
"Of course. I'm just going to be over there, reading a bit. Don't go where I can't see you from there, all right?" Frodo nodded and ran off, waving to his uncle as he went. Bilbo walked over to his spot by the tree, opened his book, and began to read.
A few minutes later, however, he decided to close his eyes for a nap. The bright sunlight dappled through the trees was making him drowsy, and before he drifted off, Bilbo swore it would only be for a little while.
"Frodo is still where he was five minutes ago. Nothing can possibly happen," he reasoned as he began to doze deeply.
***************************************************************
Bilbo yawned and stretched as he awoke.
"Ahhhh. How refreshing. I am hungry now, however. I'll just get Frodo and we can have our snack," he thought, looking around for his nephew.
After he had looked once quickly, and then again, Bilbo realized something was amiss. He began to panic, searching everywhere for Frodo, but to no avail.
"Sticklebacks. Where is that lad?" He shouted to no one. "Frodo, where are you? It's Bilbo!" He was now frantic, and desperate.
After what seemed like hours of searching, Bilbo sat down under his tree once more, head in his hands.
"How could you be so stupid, Bilbo Baggins! Your lad is out there in the woods, all alone, and it's no one's fault but your own. How could you be so stupid..."
Bilbo put his head in his hands, and began to cry.
TBC...;)
*silme means "starlight" in Elvish