A sixth LOTR fic by Iorhael

Great thanks for my beta, MBradford

AN: A birthday present for the beloved Frodo and his loving uncle, Bilbo.

Summary: At his first birthday without his deceased parents, Frodo had to overcome his misery alone. But then Bilbo came, cheering up his bereaved nephew.

~ In the Eve of Halimath 22, 1380 ~

Sleek, rosy fingers contrasted sharply with the bronze door handle as they wound around it and applied pressure. The owner of those fine – boned fingers stepped into the room and the candle in her hand dispelled the darkness, slowly revealing a small form huddled under a thick blanket, deep in gentle slumber.

She placed the candle gently on the bedside table, and reached out to stroke softly at silky, dark brown curls.

“Frodo.” A warm, loving voice affectionately embraced the air, and the sleeping lad. Even the candle seemed to quiver at the sound, the flame dancing to and fro.

The curly head turned, the locks disappearing replaced by a face adorned with diminutive rosy lips, dimpled cheeks and a dark fringe of eyelashes that brushed them lightly. The woman stood and brushed each of the eyelids with her moist lips, whispering, “Frodo, wake up, lad.”

The lids fluttered then ceased their shivers and slowly opened, lazily, revealing two deep, baby blue eyes, bluer than the sky on a cloudless day. The tiny beacon of the candle, despite its dimness, proved to be too much for Frodo’s eyes as they had just opened, no longer beholding the obscure world of sleep and dreams. Frodo raised his left hand and rested it on his brow, squinting into the light.

“Mother?” He let out a small sigh. Frodo’s sleepy eyes gradually adjusted to the poorly – lit surroundings and spotted his mother’s smiling lips. “Is it morning already?” he asked faintly.

His mother shook her head.

“No. But it’s nigh to midnight. It’s nearly September the twenty-second, my beloved child. You’re almost twelve.”

Frodo pulled down his hand, taking his blanket up to his neck. He yawned soundlessly. His eyes fluttered closed and he curled up again on his side, facing the candle. The dancing light shimmered upon his face, making it glow warmly. Primula held her breath at the astonishing sight before her, too entranced by it to catch what Frodo said next.

“Thank you Mother,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. Frodo had started to drift off. Prim gave a light chuckle, bringing Frodo back to alertness.

“Mama?” wondered Frodo.

“You’re very welcome, my boy.”

Frodo stared at her questioningly but Prim just let it go.

“But I came here not only to wish you a happy birthday. We have a surprise for you.” When Frodo did not comment, Primula continued, “Your father and I. So, come. We have to make haste or the moment will pass.”

Faced with the choice between his drowsiness and utter curiosity, Frodo eventually set to follow the latter. He pushed aside the blanket, rose from his bed and took the night robe handed out by his mother. But Frodo did not jump out of the bed as usual. Swaying a little, he put on the robe with Prim’s help.

“Everything’s set?” Prim whispered in Frodo’s ears. “Let’s go now.”

Still with wonder in his heart, Frodo let himself be led out, his small, fragile hand tightly grasped in Primula’s endearing hold.

Frodo spontaneously tightened his robe as chilling wind welcomed him and his mother as she opened the round door leading to the backyard.

“My two lovelings!” Drogo stood up from his sitting position, arms stretching wide, ready to hug the two most precious jewels in his life. Prim and Frodo fell into his embrace, Frodo giggling a little as his father’s fingers unintentionally probed on his waist.

“Let go, Papa!” chirped Frodo, squirming himself out of the tangled web of hugs and caresses. Just then that he saw what was behind Drogo. Frodo’s eyes widened in awe at the blanket lying on the bed of grass and all the beautiful pies and cakes that spread upon it. Frodo recognized his mother’s specialty, pumpkin tart. There were also apple pie and cream-covered strawberries and almond muffins and pineapple dipped in sugar cane sauce and warm ginger ale. But the polestar of them all lay in the middle of the blanket. It was the biggest and the most beautifully decorated birthday cake Frodo had ever laid eyes on.

The cake came in the shape of an open book laid upon a bookstand. Frodo dropped to his knees and attentively beheld it. Both the book cover and the sides, and the bookstand were expertly rendered in chocolate and cream icing, and the open pages displayed paintings of three persons – Drogo, Primula and Frodo. Lines of words and sentences, so authentic they looked like real pages of a scrapbook, ran beneath the likenesses of the family. Frodo bent closer and he then could see in the lines a special poem written for him.

The blaring sounds of the trumpets The colorful hues of the flags

The sparkling twinkles of the stars

The cheerful chirps of the birds

All sing to you today, my dear

For this lovely birthday of yours

“I wrote it myself, lad, but your mother helped me put it on the cake.” Drogo’s voice was hoarse with restrained emotion.

Frodo looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears. His lips parted, and closed, opened again, but nothing came out of his mouth.

Then a soft ‘I love you’ was spoken quietly in the silence of the night.

Primula turned away, unable to hold back her tears, while Drogo, not wanting to let the others see him weep, rather hastily took Frodo’s hand and led him to sit down. Frodo placed himself cozily on Drogo’s lap, leaning with his back on his father’s broad chest.

“Do you see that, Frodo?”

Frodo tilted his head to meet his father’s gaze. “What, Papa?”

“The stars up there. They, too, are witnessing your birthday, sweetling. And one of them, by the name of Earendil, will bear you company. Always. As long as you live.”

Primula kneeled down beside her two most loved men. Frodo turned to her, complete bliss shining through his eyes.

“With you two as well, Ma, Pa?”

Primula gave a meaningful smile and Drogo squeezed Frodo’s shoulders lovingly from behind.

***

~ At the dawn of Halimath 22, 1381 ~

Frodo hugged his bent knees closer to his chin, leaning back more deeply into – no, no. Not into his father’s chest as he had last year, but into the damp, moss-grown wall of Brandy Hall, a big smial belonging to his grandfather, Rorimac Brandybuck. Frodo looked up to the sky and saw the stars still shining in spite of the breaking of the dawn. Which one is Earendil? He wondered silently.

Frodo’s birthday night a year past was certainly not the last time he watched the sparkling little dots in the sky with both of his parents. But that, sadly, was the last time Frodo had ever celebrated his birthday together with them, the only people he ever loved more than anything in the world.

The little hobbit, only one year older than he was before, rubbed his eyes bitterly with the back of his hand. Only a year ago. He was thirteen now, yet, he had been left alone in this universe. Utterly. Completely. Frodo had forced himself not to cry or complain since the death of his parents, but the burden had become so heavy he was unable to hold back tears any longer. Not even the promised company of the star Earendil would be able to lift the heavy stone burdening his heart.

Frodo tried to draw a deep breath, calming himself, only to end up sobbing uncontrollably. It had been a year, a year living in solitude, loneliness, helplessness. And though there lived more than two hundred dwellers in this massive house, no one had ever really looked Frodo in the eye and stayed with him and talked to him. Simply talked to him, asking how he felt and what he wanted to do. No one. Just no one. Frodo could not guess whether things would go differently with his birthday approaching, but the thought of his relatives ignoring it was just too much to bear.

“That is impossible, darling,” the soft-spoken Primula reminded Frodo. “Just look at the trunk and take anything out of it. These things will make great presents for all your cousins.” Frodo ran into the house after finishing almost half of the birthday-book cake, and went to a big, decorative box in the middle of the study. Cheerful laughter had followed as Frodo opened the lid of the box and discovered so many colorfully wrapped presents. Frodo could not possibly know what was inside each of the brilliant - hued boxes but that did not matter. Birthdays meant giving gifts and tomorrow he would do that!

Another sigh escaped Frodo’s small lips. Giving gifts was something that existed only in the past, when he was celebrating his twelfth birthday that had ended in a hubbub. More than fifty childhobbits were crowding over Frodo’s parents’ small hole, eating, drinking, singing, dancing, and unwrapping fascinating gifts prepared by Primula.

Frodo turned his head to the left and rested his tear-stained right cheek to his knees, eyes squeezed shut. Last night Frodo had acted as if he had lost his mind. He had checked inside the trunk, which, by the order from his uncles, had been placed in his room, hoping senselessly that there would be some kind of miracle and that the trunk was now full of presents again. But that, of course, was merely Frodo’s imagination.

The eyelashes stirred as the lids fluttered open. Amazed, Frodo looked up to the sky. This was exactly the time that his Papa had told him, the time when all the stars vanished from the night sky and were replaced by the radiant blush of sunrise. The time when the stars faded away, taking along the dark beneath them that had dominated the entire night.

All of a sudden realization embraced him like a warm quilt in this wee small hour. Dawn had come; sun had risen. The night had disappeared. Like a macrocosm of Frodo’s life, those facts made him think and see everything from a new perspective. Should he always live under the shadow of his parents’ deaths? Could he not leave everything behind and start a new life? Frodo smiled bitterly to himself, his breath hitching from the last of his sobs.

“Can you do that, Frodo Baggins?” he asked himself almost inaudibly. No matter what, he was going on, if only for a year more. Frodo realized Drogo, his father, would also want him to go on.

Frodo squinted involuntarily as bright morning sunlight bored into his eyes. The stars had actually not diminished despite the rising of the sun. They were just hiding from view, to return and shine again at night. To bear you company, as Drogo had said.

“Just like both of you, Ma, Pa,” whispered Frodo sadly. Be that as it may, they, his parents, were still here, or at least were the graves that marked their passing.

***

The door to Frodo’s room opened and closed almost soundlessly as if it did not want to disturb the stillness inside. Bilbo put down a hefty sack on the floor, huffing his breath out as relief washed over him at the riddance of his burden. Oh, he corrected himself. Not a burden. Not a burden at all.

The old gentlehobbit swept his gaze around the room, and was a bit disappointed as he did not find who he was looking for. Frodo. Where was he? Sara and Esme had told him the lad was usually still sleeping around this hour.

“Frodo?” Bilbo called out softly. He did not know that the boy was just outside, sitting down and leaning against the wall, or that when Frodo’s mind was preoccupied with something, a distraction such as Bilbo’s gentle call meant nothing for him.

One more time Bilbo looked around. This time his gaze came to rest on a big box in the corner. Its lid was open, revealing nothing but empty wooden walls. Bilbo knew the thing was meant to keep birthday presents before they were given away. Primula had told him. It was empty now, thought Bilbo as sorrow pierced his heart. How did Frodo fare with all this? How did Frodo bear the solitude of having his birthday without Drogo and Primula? Dragging the sack with him, he walked over to the trunk.

“No matter,” muttered Bilbo, turning over the bag and emptying its content to the chest. There were gifts, big and small, coming in different shapes, round, rectangular, and square. All were wrapped in colorful and bright papers. Nothing was made of breakable material, though, so Bilbo did not have to be very careful in handling them.

“There. Now you have presents for your friends, Frodo lad,” Bilbo smiled with satisfaction as he rubbed his hands. “And you don’t have to celebrate it only by yourself.” He was dying to see Frodo’s reaction toward the lovely surprise.

THE END