A thirty-sixth fic by Iorhael

Written for Marigold’s Challenge 6

Summary: Primula dreamed of living the years together with her only son.

AN: My first fic to be betaed by Gayalondiel. Such a sweety she is! She helps me a lot improving this one. Thank you, my dear!

Rated: G

There was a time when Primula Brandybuck was yet a young lass, simple and carefree. Then, one of her favorite pastimes was wandering in the woods or the vast green lawns that surrounded Brandy Hall, or along the banks of the Brandywine. Snaps of fragile twigs and the rustling of the wind among the leaves upon the trees were the most soothing sounds to her. The flowing water and the foaming waves washing over the rocks carried Primula away from the realities of life to the joy of her dreams. Dreams that she wished never to leave in her life. A life of a youth. Simple and carefree.

Until the day she met that gentle hobbit. A lad that could make Primula forget all about her dreams. She thought about him during the daytime, and now she dreamt of him at night. Drogo was her dream, Drogo Baggins… who was compassionate enough not to let Primula dream too long.

He turned her dreams into reality, and showed her that their life together could also be simple and carefree. She spent many happy days and months with her husband, but she still retained a special part of her heart for herself only, and took great joy in her time alone.

But then Frodo came into her life, and captured Primula’s heart entirely and eternally. From that moment, her life took on a new dream that she never guessed would be as simple and carefree as her dream of youth, different as it was, and infinitely more beautiful. Frodo’s coos and moans and cries were music to her ears. The baby’s tiny form, limbs, fingers and his small curly locks and tightly closed eyelids could bring tears to her eyes, even when she only imagined them. And the soft feeling of his skin against the tips of her fingers and the sweet fragrance of the flowery powder…

Every day was like the perfect summer’s day for Primula. The sun always shone brightly when she drew back the curtains and the yellow face generously and warmly lit the small room where Frodo slept. The baby would stir and squirm and Primula would press her face into his small, plump belly, tickling him and making him squirm even more and giggle unceasingly. Dimples appeared on both of Frodo’s cheeks and his mouth would curve slightly. His ocean blue eyes would twinkle like the brightest stars. When Primula lifted her face, her merry laughter would mingle with his.

On one particularly fine morning, there was a new joy in Primula’s laughter. She knew how handsome her darling was, but she had never truly realised his beauty until that moment. She reached out and gently stroked the velvety skin of Frodo’s cheek with her fingertips.

“My baby,” she whispered, and Frodo cooed almost inaudibly in response. She wanted to say something more, but words were too shallow to describe her feelings. Frodo was different. His skin was too fair. His nose was too sharp and straight. His features were too lean, and his eyes too bright and clear. The boy reminded Primula of an elf. A faerie. And his pointy ears – although usual for a hobbit – just underscored his elfish demeanour. Only his curly hair countered it. Even then, dark hair like Frodo’s was not the norm, either. Hobbits’ hair was normally light brown.

Primula chuckled remembering her argument with her husband shortly after Frodo was born. Drogo had blamed her for Frodo’s curious fairness (for Primula was also considered too fair for a hobbit), while Primula had blamed him for their child’s dainty features. They had ended up by admitting to have given their equal shares in making Frodo look the way he did.

“Still,” Primula had added. “I think there is something else in Frodo, don’t you think so? Just look at him.” She kissed the tip of Frodo’s nose. “My elfling. My beloved little elf.”

* * *

Every time of the year was summer for Primula, for Frodo was always there to be her sunshine. Or if not, then spring, with Frodo being the softly blowing wind caressing her soul. She lived with the thought of loving him every single minute. He was her breath and her existence, the source of endless wonder in her life.

Frodo became an extraordinary lad. He grew taller than most boys of his age and there were few changes in his features – their unusual brilliance remained. Moreover, unlike the other children, Frodo always behaved well. He rarely whined or complained, nor did he ever trouble Primula with many demands. He was such a sweet lad, although almost too aloof for a hobbit.

Autumn hardly ever knocked at the Baggins’s door, although it was not altogether unknown to them. One of its chills came the day that Primula could not find Frodo anywhere. He was not in his room, nor in Drogo’s study, nor in any rooms of the house, and neither could he be seen in the garden. His passionate mother started to panic: she could not imagine ever losing Frodo. She could not even bring herself to think about it. She loved him too much. He was the dearest jewel in her life. At that point, she did not care if Frodo looked like an elf or a goblin. She would love him still.

Primula was close to hysteria, - but fortunately, as always, Drogo had a clearer head. He looked further and searched more carefully, and found Frodo sprawled on a big limb of an oak tree, sleeping fast. He had been reading but the soft breeze slowly lulled him to slumber, making him unable to hear his father and mother calling out to him.

The bitter experience made Primula act more carefully, causing her to be even more protective toward Frodo than she had been. She would not allow her child to wander alone outside the house, even if he was with his beloved Uncle Bilbo. She would not lose Frodo. There would not be such things as autumn or winter in her small family. She would not even let the grey world of the night creep anywhere near her dear son.

* * *

Epilogue

The once bright eyes slowly dimmed, until there was little trace of the characteristic luster in them anymore. Clouds and mists hung there, and no one knew when they would lift, allowing the eyes to light up once more. Grief pierced too deep into the once merry soul. How could he ever be merry again? The source of love and wonder had vanished from his life, leaving him bare and alone in the world.

Frodo trembled and fell to his knees on the barrow of his parents’ grave. What was the use of all this worldly beauty if it failed to bring any happiness? What was the use of him being fair as a faerie if it could not keep his most beloved people with him forever?

Fin