A/N: It seems that I am continuing this after all. It is only fair to warn you, this one may hurt a lot

Chapter Two

Frodo Baggins was sitting on the edge of his bed again, staring dully at his toes as he had for the past four days.

Four days ago he had moved into Doralic's life.

Doralic watched his little cousin (father's cousin three times removed but still cousin) from the doorway, desperate to know what to say. This was his room after all, making everyone living in it his responsibility. Morilac was easy to be responsible for. He had the normal tempers and joys and fits of sadness or boredom that any young hobbit had. Besides, he was Derlic's own brother, and with that came a familiarity with Lacks's problems. This hobbit though was nothing but sad, all the time. Derlic couldn't blame him for that at all, of course. He couldn't fathom how he would have handled his grief if it had been his parents found floating in the Brandywine, and so he had tried to give the newcomer some privacy, and made sure that the other lads let Frodo alone to adjust also. Now though it had been four days, and the child still hadn't come out of his room voluntarily, and Derlic couldn't sit by and let his little cousin wither away any longer like a weed cast aside in the sun.

The only problem was - he had no idea what to do.

Frodo's gaze lifted from his toes and the toy cat in his lap long enough to take in the room. His dull eyes focused tiredly on Derlic.

Caught.

Derlic gave him what he hoped was an encouraging little smile. "Hello."

The child just stared at him.

Derlic's stomach fell. That wasn't a very promising start. He nodded casually at their surroundings. "What do you think of the room?" It seemed a safe enough subject.

Frodo looked around dully again. Then he shrugged.

He shrugged!

Doralic felt a curl of anger within himself. Didn't the ingrate know what he had gone through to make the room nice? About the scrubbing and sweeping and rearranging of everything? Why, he and Lacks didn't even have their own beds any more, thanks to this newcomer!

He managed to keep his tone civil as he asked, "Do you not like it?"

This time when Frodo looked around Derlic noticed the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes.

"'S alright," the child murmured. "I'm sure I'll - get used to it." His breath hitched a little as he stared at the bedpost Morilac had happily teethed on as a faunt.

Derlic raised a brow. "Is there anything we could do to make it better?" He wondered if Frodo could hear the sarcasm pulling faintly at the corners of the words.

The gaze went around the room again, and then Frodo shook his head. He squeezed the toy cat in his lap so tightly that if the cat had been real it would have been dead.

Oh, that's right. He was the only child in a hole of three. He's never had to share before. He probably even had his own room. The realisation brought a grimace to Derlic's stomach. Well, at least he was all right with this room. He was probably just missing his old one.

Or maybe his old life.

The teen squirmed, uncertain what to talk about to comfort this almost crying child.

"You're eleven, right?"

A sniffle. "Yes."

"I'm fifteen," Derlic hurried on. "My birthday is the twenty-eighth of Forelithe. When is yours?"

Three heartbeats passed before, "The twenty-second of Halimath."

So, not soon, then. "What do you like to do for it?"

Frodo shrugged again, but then answered dutifully, "I always celebrate with Bilbo because he and I share a birthday. We plan the meal together and have a large cake and always give each other our presents on our birthdays because we can do that." He almost gave Derlic a smile at that.

Derlic was shocked. Birthdays were for giving presents; you weren't supposed to get them that day at all! That was supposed to be the day before! "Why do you do that?" he asked faintly.

The child was actually giving him a wavery grin! "Because Bilbo gives me his birthday present on his birthday and I give him my present to him on my birthday!" he answered, almost triumphantly. "It's great fun! One year I gave him a plaque which said, 'For you on YOUR Birthday!' and he laughed so hard that I thought he'd fall right down on the floor! He gets it out every year an' hangs it above his bed the day before an' takes it down the day after an' tucks it away for safekeeping 'til next year, whether he's staying in his hole or ours. Da says that it's the silliest thing ever, but he loves it as much as...he loved it..." Frodo's voice faltered and he clenched his cat again, jaws locked together as he struggled not to cry.

Bilbo. The eccentric old hobbit who showed up every so often with the most marvellous stories and pockets filled with treats who the grown-up just weren't quite sure of. Having heard this story Doralic was inclined to agree with them.

"W-What do you like to do for your birthday?" Frodo mumbled through his teeth.

Derlic stared at him for a moment, shocked that he'd care enough to try and talk. But then he recovered. If Frodo wanted to talk then by all means! "First of all, I don't have lessons that day, which is always nice." He received a very faint snicker at that and pressed on, encouraged. "In fact, I'll have the whole day to decide what I want to do, so usually I'll sneak around while everyone else is busy and leave their birthday presents on their pillows or desks or somewhere that I know they'll find it, and then I'll go fishing. When I have five nice-sized fish I'll come back to the smial and we have fresh fish and potatoes and pie and such for supper, and then my mother makes fish cakes with the last fish for breakfast tomorrow."

Frodo stared at him. "You don't have a party? Or cake?"

"No. I don't really like cake. It's too dry. And I do have a party, it's just with my family. Brandy Hall's too big to have a birthday party every year."

"Bilbo and I always have a party," Frodo protested.

Derlic shrugged. "And that's your own affair," he returned. With so many hobbits in one smial it would be pretentious for anyone to have a large yearly birthday party other than the master and his family. In fact, some hobbits did have yearly parties, and they were thought of as pretentious.

"An' cake is delicious!" the child went on. "You should have some of Mama's—Mum's cake. It's quite the nicest, softest cake you'll ever ea—" The child's face went white again and he squeezed his cat and his eyes and his jaw all tightly and sat that way silently for a few minutes, breathing hard.

Derlic watched, racking his mind for a safer subject.

Finally the child opened his eyes and mumbled, "'M sorry."

"It's alright," Derlic made himself shrug, as if he dealt with crying children every day and it was nothing. "So, where are you at in your lessons?" Alright, perhaps it was a subject that only the most desperate would broach, but right now he was feeling most desperate.

Frodo sighed. "Reading, writing..a few sums - I'm not very good with them... some gardening and dancing," he sniffled and his voice cracked, "cooking, genealogy..." his voice trailed off.

Cooking! That would be a safe subject. "What have you cooked?"

There was a long pause. "Do you mean at all, or by myself?" Frodo finally asked.

"By yourself, of course," Derlic frowned. What sort of question was that?

There was another long pause.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Derlic repeated, shocked. How can he possibly...

"Not by myself," Frodo squeaked. "I can make things —I can make porridge and toast and knead bread an' stir jelly an' such— but Mama—Mum was always there with me. An' Da—

"What about a trade?" Derlic asked hurriedly. "Are you learning any sort of trade?

The child shook his head "No," he shuddered. "I was — I w-was..." he heaved a shaky breath.

He's going to cry. Derlic winced. Wasn't there anything he could say to help?! "It's alright," he heard himself murmuring. "It's alright..."

"How?" the child demanded, and now he really was crying. "How can you say that? I'm s'posed to be carving right now—!" And he doubled over on his knees, sobbing brokenly. Uncertain what to do Doralic crept closer, cautiously putting a hand on the top of Frodo's back and rubbing. He could just make out the muffled words, "P-Papa was going to teach me...today!...We were s'posed to make jam...Mama—!"

What was he supposed to do now? He was fifteen! He didn't know that comforting a person could make them cry! Lacks never did this!

He kept gently rubbing.