Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.

A Long Expected Arrival

Primula looked at the little bundle of joy in her arms again with a smile. She could hardly believe that her son, Frodo Baggins, had just been born earlier that day. He was so tiny, so sweet, and so beautiful. He looked almost Elvish somehow. How much she had dreamed of this day, and at last it was here. She could hardly believe it. Quietly, she began to hum a slow waltz that she loved and found soothing

Drogo looked at his son with a sense of pride as both son and mother slept peacefully. His son was so precious to him already. Gently, he stroked the baby's forehead and placed his finger in the tiny hand. Such strength for a little babe. Frodo stirred, and Drogo hushed him, picking him up and carrying him out with a warm glance at his sleeping wife.

He had so many dreams for his young son. Frodo would grow up to be more successful than himself. His life would be fulfilling and meaningful, and he would leave a mark. Drogo would teach him all kinds of farming tricks when he was both old and big enough to learn them. He would be the most well-behaved lad in the Shire, not perfect, but well-behaved.

The newborn babe stared up at his father, his big blue eyes wide with wonder. Drogo laughed quietly. "Hullo there, Frodo-lad!" he said with a smile. The baby blinked in reply. "What are you thinking, huh? What's going on in that mind of yours, eh?" He tickled the wee lad's tiny feet, and the baby tightly curled his toes and scrunched his legs closer to his body.

Drogo walked over to the rocking chair in front of the fireplace and sat down. He continued to admire the babe while rocking him. The crackling fire proved soothing to the chilid as he soon was fast asleep in his father's arms.

Sensing another's presence, Drogo looked up to see his wife smiling at him and their son in the shadows. Their eyes met, and Primula joined her husband and son staying silent, only their eyes talking, as they did not wish to wake their baby.

Primula rushed back and forth between the cooking food and wailing baby, not wanting to burn the meal but not wanting to neglect her child. Everything had to be perfect. Her friends were coming over for afternoon tea to see Frodo, and she could not be prouder.

Finally the food was done, and she removed it from over the fire and covered it so it would stay warm. Then, she tended to her child, who wanted nursing. Afterward, she dressed him in the sweater she had crocheted for him, the pants she sewed for him, and the booties Drogo had bought for him.

"Anytime now, love, they'll be here," she told Frodo who was staring up at her, cooing, his eyes wide with wonder. "What are you thinking? How will you react?" she asked with a wistful smile. "I wish you could tell me, but I can wait. It all goes by so quickly, my mother tells me. I don't want you to grow up, but at the same time I do. Frodo-love, don't grow up too fast."

Frodo cocked his head as though listening, causing Primula to laugh. "Come, Frodo-love, we'll go outside and meet them," she said as she lifted him gently into her arms. "I wonder how you will react, my dear boy, being your first outing."

Primula opened the door of her humble abode and took a few steps toward the gate. A butterfly fluttered by and hovered over the calm baby, closer and closer. Frodo reached for it, and Primula laughed. "No, no," she told him, tapping his hand enough to get the message across. "You mustn't hurt the butterfly now, dearest." Frodo's eyes watered and he began to cry as the pretty creature fled from his reaching hand. "Hush, now. Shh..." She rocked her body back and forth to try to calm him, and it worked.

"Frodo-love, don't cry. Mama's just tryin' to help you learn. I love you too much to let you get away with anything. You need to learn even now." Frodo's eyes began to droop. "Hold on, Frodo, they're coming up the walkway now. They'll want to hold you. Please, dearest, keep awake."

Esmeralda Brandybuck came to the gate, followed by Lily Bywater, Daisy Took, and Rose Proudfoot. They all oo'd and ah'd over baby Frodo, holding him in turn, commenting on how cute he was. Primula grew increasingly uncomfortable having her child passed around, and she longed for him though she knew not why as these were her best friends. She sighed with relief as Frodo began to get fussy.

"I'm sorry, but it's time for his nap," she told them as she took Frodo from Esmeralda. "I'm going to put him down, and then we'll have tea, alright?" She walked to her bedroom and placed Frodo in his crib and rocked him until he fell into a peaceful sleep.

"Prim, you sure you don't need any help?" asked Esmeralda after all the others had left.

"Yes, I'm sure. I can get the dishes. You already did enough, bringing over soup for me to reheat for dinner."

"Alright, then. Good-bye. Call if you need anything."

"I will; don't worry." The two embraced and Primula showed Esmeralda out the door.

Drogo came in after he noticed this, and he found his wife sitting in the rocking chair. "Hullo, dear."

"Hullo," she replied tiredly.

"Why don't you go take a nap?"

"I have to clean the dishes and heat the soup for dinner," she protested, yawning.

"I'll care for that stuff and Frodo. You were up since dawn with him and then preparing --" Drogo halted his speech and smiled as he noticed his precious wife was asleep. "Dearest love, sleep well." Gently, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to their bed, laying her down and tucking her in with the lightest sheet. Drogo kissed her brow softly and carried Frodo in his small crib out to the living room where he could keep a closer eye on him.

"How peaceful you look, dear lad," he whispered as he went to do the dishes.

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Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Joyful Occassions

Frodo was nearly a year old, and he had yet to speak many words, leastways when he had an audience. Primula and Drogo had grown quite accustomed to parenthood though occassionally they wished to be more involved with their friends as they once had been. However, they were a tightknit family and their marriage only benefitted from it.

Now, on this day, September first, Drogo and Primula were getting ready for the day -- Drogo for labor on the field and Primula for housework -- as they normally did, and Frodo was fussing, desiring food and hugs from his father as he usually did.

Primula sat a dish with mashed food in front of Frodo and rushed to get the food for Drogo, seeing they had woke up late and were in a hurry. Unforunately her actions proved problematic as baby Frodo began to dig into the food with his hands and smother it on his mouth. Drogo laughed as Primula hurriedly placed the bowl in front of him and rushed to Frodo.

Grabbing the wee lad's hand, she firmly told him, "Frodo, give me your hand."

"No," Frodo said.

Primula did not know whether or not to hug her child happily for speaking for the first time in days or to continue with the scolding as joy rushed through her veins.

"'No' is right. You don't tell mama 'no.' You obey her. Do you understand?"

"No," repeated Frodo, looking quite pleased with himself as he looked at his father.

"Frodo..." Drogo warned, his face stern.

"Dada?" Frodo asked, not understanding the sudden change in his father's expression. "Dada, no?"

"Yes, Frodo, no telling mama 'no,' lad." Drogo walked up to Primula, handing her a rag.

"Now give me your hands."

"I've got to go, dear."

"Good day," Primula replied, giving her husband a kiss on the cheek.

"Bye, Frodo," Drogo said, hoping for at least "dada" in return or a wave.

Primula finished cleaning Frodo's hands as Drogo walked out the door, and she picked him up. Frodo stared at the door for a few minutes before saying, "Dada, bye-bye?"

"Yes, dada went bye-bye," Primula replied happily. "How long have you been talking when we weren't near you? Do you have any more tricks you've been hidin'? Have you?" she asked playfully while tickling Frodo. "Have you, Frodo-love?"

Primula put him down on the floor and Frodo looked up at her questioningly. "Stay there, Frodo; mommy's going to go clean," she instructed before going out the room.

Frodo sat quietly and looked around the room for a few minutes. His mother had never left him to wander through this room alone before. He set his eyes on a tiny silver object on the table just out of his reach. He crawled over to the table and reached for it, grunting.

He really wanted it, the pretty object. He reached again to no avail. He grabbed onto the table and pulled his body up onto his legs, surprising himself. Scared, not knowing how to get down without falling, he said, "Ma?" No answer. "Ma?" he said a little louder. No answer still. "Ma!" he yelled. "Ma! MA! Mama!"

Primula came running into the room, finding Frodo triumphantly holding her silver thimble in one hand, while clutching frightfully onto the table ledge with the other. Laughing, she picked him up and grabbed his chubby hand. "You scared mama, you know that?" she asked. "I was worried. Don't you do that again, okay?"

"'K," he replied quietly, fingering the thimble.

"But you stood!" she exclaimed happily. "Wait until daddy hears that. You will show him, won't you?"

Frodo continued to finger the thimble.

"You know what that is?" she asked. Frodo's bright blue eyes looked up at her. "Mama uses that when she's sewing so she doesn't hurt herself. It's a thimble."

"Dim -- dimb, dimble," he repeated, smiling in wonder at the tiny object.

"No, th -- thimble," Primula corrected.

"Dimble," Frodo stated.

"Oh well, you'll get it in time." She placed him down again. "Now, mama's going to go clean again. Don't scare her again, okay?" No response as the child stared and the thimble and tried to put it in his mouth.

Promptly, Primula took it from him. "No, Frodo, you mustn't do that. Now don't scare mama again, okay?"

Watery eyes looked up at her. "'K," came the wavering reply. Primula tried to leave. "Ma!" he called.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Dimble?"

"No," she stated firmly.

"Dimble?"

"No, Frodo-dear. You can't have hte thimble."

"Dimble!" he demanded, pouting.

"Alright then, if you're going to continue being awnry, time out."

"No!" he stated firmly.

"Yes, Frodo." Primula tried to lift him up, but he made himself heavy.

"No! No!" he cried.

Nevertheless, Primula got him to the corner of his bedroom, which had no toys. "Now, stay there for ten minutes."

"No!" he protested.

"Yes," she corrected, closing the door behind her.

Frodo crossed his arms. "Mama!" he wailed on the top of his lungs. When 'mama' did not reply, he called, "Dada!" Still no one came to his rescue. He sniffled a little. Why was mama being so mean? Sending him to his room? He would show her! He would have the time of his life, even if it meant playing with his fingers and toes.

So he began to do so, humming shamelessly out of tune nursery rhymes and doing the finger movements he had seen his mother do countless times before.

When he was barely through the second, Primula came in, picked him up and put him on her lap. "Frodo-love, what have you been doing? I hope you've been thinking, though you can't do much of that, I reckon." Frodo pouted. "Well, dearest, how about we go outside and play? Mommy has time to play with you before starting second breakfast. Would you like that?"

Frodo nodded his head quietly, and Primula put him down, allowing his feet to touch the ground while she held his hands. "WAAH!" rang the child's protest through the halls of the smial. Primula put him completely down, and a crying Frodo turned himself around on his knees and reached up. "Unh," he grunted.

"No, say 'up, please.'"

"Unh!"

"'Up, please,'" Primula repeated

"No!"

"We're in a selfish mood today. Okay then, mommy's going to go cook." She began to walk away.

"No!"

"Then, say 'up, please.'"

"Up, pwease," Frodo said, though he remained stubborn.

"Okay, love. Remember your manners next time. Right?"

"'K." Primula picked him up.

"I am going to get you!" Primula threatened playfully as Frodo crawled quickly away. "Oh, where are you?" She lifted a rock, smiling. "No, not there. In this flower garden? No." Frodo giggled. "In the log? No. How about behind the tree? Ah! There you are!" Giggling, Frodo crawled away, but Primula picked him up. "I got you! You're a clever one, you are." Giggling as she tickled Frodo. Of course, she had known all along where Frodo was.

She placed him down. "You want to try to catch me?" A small head nod. Primula began to walk at a decent pace. She felt a pull on her skirt. "You got me! You're fast!" She laughed with her child.

Primula sighed. "Well, Frodo, let's go get second breakfast ready for daddy, okay?"

"'K," replied Frodo, reaching up. "Up, pwease, ma."

Primula laughed happily and carried him away indoors.

TBC...

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Relations

"Mum, what are you getting ready for?" asked five-year-old Frodo.

"Cousin Bilbo's coming over for tea."

"Oh, who's Bilbo?"

"Remember the hobbit in Hobbiton who went on all those adventures?" Frodo nodded. "Well, that is who he is."

"Oh. Can I help?" he asked

"That old guise does not work anymore, Frodo-dear," Primula chided softly. Frodo mocked innocence. "Don't use that face. You know of what I speak."

Frodo sighed. "Alright. Could I help if I promise not to lick the utensils 'til after you're done cooking?"

"Yes, Frodo, you may. But I'll keep you to it."

"Yes, ma'am," Frodo replied, pulling up a stool his father had made him so he could reach the counter. He reached for the mixing bowl and his mother handed him the spoon as she reached for the sugar, butter, flour, baking soda, milk, and eggs to make her cake. Frodo began to stir as his mother put in each ingredient.

Soon, the batter was ready and poured in a pan to bake over the hot fire. Frodo prepared to dip his finger into the tasty mixture, but his mother caught his hand. "Not so fast, young lad. This be my new recipe. I added a little something extra, dearest. I want you to wait until Bilbo gets here."

With a defeated sigh, Frodo got off his stool and began to put it away while saying, "Then, I guess if it tastes bad, we'll all find out together."

"Yes, we will. Are you saying I'm a bad cook, love?"

"Well, no, mum. Not usually."

"'Not usually'?" repeated Primula.

Frodo contemplated his words. "Yes, I think 'not usually' just about sums it up."

"Come here, you!" she replied playfully. Frodo came up to his mother and she hugged him. "I love you, Frodo my lad."

"I love you to, mum," Frodo answered truthfully, hugging his mother around the neck as she lifted him up.

"When's he going to get here, father?"

"Well, Frodo my dear lad, soon. You see, he lives over in Hobbiton in the house on the hill. It takes a wee bit longer for him to get here." At Frodo's bored look out the window, Drogo offered, "How about we go out in the yard and play catch until he gets here?"

"But I don't know how to," Frodo replied, looking down.

"And why's that?" Drogo asked, tilting his son's head up.

"You never taught me. You said I weren't –"

"Wasn't," Drogo corrected.

"Wasn't big enough," finished Frodo.

"How old are you now, lad? Five?" Frodo nodded his head. "Ah, well, I'd say five is plenty big enough. Now, what do you say?"

"I should like it very much."

Producing a ball out of his pocket, Drogo exclaimed, "Good! I'm glad to hear that." He opened the door. "Out you go."

Drogo threw the ball underhand for the fifteenth time, but it missed young Frodo completely, sailing over his head a ways off into the bushes. "Sorry, lad!" Drogo yelled as Frodo ran to get it.

"That's okay!" Frodo yelled back, bumping into an older lad and falling down. As he stood, he noticed the robust lad nearly twice his age and size had the ball. "May I please have my ball?" Frodo asked.

"Your ball? It's mine." "But I –"

"Finders keepers, loosers weepers," the lad sneered.

"Please, may I have my ball?"

The lad noticed his parents had caught up and his expression changed from tough to innocent and angelic in an instant. "Mother, father, this lad here is trying to take my ball."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, lad. That child's too small to be brave enough to do that," replied the mother. "Besides, he's your cousin."

"Not to mention," the father said, "that ball is not yours. Give it back to cousin Frodo."

"But it's mine!" he protested.

"No, it's not. He's lying," stated Frodo, near tears. It had been his father's when he was little, and Frodo could not let the likes of that boy take it.

Drogo walked up and stiffened as he saw his relatives. They were on speaking terms, of course, but Lobelia, Otho, and Lotho were not his favorite people. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Lotho, give back the ball, now!" Otho commanded, motioning to take off his belt. Lotho got the message and hurried to give the ball back. "Drogo, how are you?" he asked just for formality.

"Otho, I'm doing well. What are you doing out in these parts?"

"We were out on a walk, but the missus and young lad insisted on coming to visit you." Rolling his eyes, Otho whispered, "They caught wind that Bilbo was going to be here."

"Oh," mouthed Drogo.

"What did you say, dear?"

"Nothing, Lobelia," he said, but under his breath he added, "Nothing of importance to you."

"Well," Drogo said reluctantly, though he hoped his reluctance was not showing, "why don't you all come in and have tea since you're here."

"Oh, you're too kind," Lobelia answered.

Drogo ignored her and continued to lead the way to the smial. "Bilbo will be here soon."

"Oh, really? I never would have thought he visited these parts." Before Drogo could reply, Lotho pushed Frodo and he landed on his derriere. He quickly stood and angrily pushed him back. Lotho made himself fall. "Mother, Frodo pushed me."

Lobelia spun around and Frodo stood mouth open. "He pushed me first!" he protested.

"If you ever –!"

"Lobelia," Otho warned. "Stay out of this, Otho. If you ever –"

"LOBELIA!" Otho yelled. "The lad could not possibly have pushed him that hard," he added once she looked at him.

"Hmph!" she uttered as she gathered her skirt and marched off. "Come, Lotho, my poor son."

Drogo looked back at his son as soon as Lobelia and Lotho were out of earshot. "I know you didn't push him that hard, but you don't push people back. Yes, sir?"

"Yes, sir," Frodo said mechanically. He had decided he did not like Lotho Sackville-Baggins – at all.

Frodo trudged into the house to find an older hobbit sitting at the table with his parents and cousins, save Lotho who was sticking his nose where it did not belong. "Ah, Frodo-dear, there you are!" said Primula. "Frodo, I'd like to introduce your cousin Bilbo."

"Hullo, my boy!" greeted the hobbit.

"Hello, sir," replied Frodo. What was he supposed to call this older gentle hobbit who happened to be his cousin? Surely not 'Bilbo.' It would not be proper.

"Sit down, Frodo-dear. Have some tea and cake," Primula said, grabbing her son's shoulders and seating him in the chair she had pulled out for him.

Flabbergasted, Lobelia asked, "Surely you're not going to place a child at a table full of adults?"

"Why, Lobelia! Don't you seat Lotho at your table?"

Lobelia scowled and Otho looked away in contempt. That queer Brandybuck lass trying openly to humiliate her! The nerve of her! "Well, yes, but I was – um – thinking of the child. Perhaps he would like to go play with Lotho." Not that I would let my boy play with him anyway.

"No, I would much rather stay right here, ma'am."

"Oh," Lobelia replied with an heir of disgust.

Bilbo decided to pipe in right then. "Really, you thinking about Frodo's feelings is rather nice of you," he said sarcastically, thinking that – and knowing that – Lobelia was incapable of thinking of anyone but Lotho and herself. She even thought slightly poorly of Otho, her own husband for not showing open contempt of people, evening mingling with commoners at times.

Puffed up with pride, she replied, "Oh, really?" eager to hear more.

Bilbo shook his head as Frodo and Drogo watched with a smile and Primula pretended to have an obsession with watching water boil and Otho grimaced. "Well, sirs, ma'am, Frodo-lad," he said, "I'll be going to the sitting room now."

"Oh, and I'll come with you, sir," offered Frodo, wanting to stay as far away from Lotho as possible.

"Good; very glad to hear that, my lad," Bilbo said with a wink of understanding.

"I hope you don't mind if I smoke my pipeweed in here, Frodo," Bilbo told Frodo as they sat in the sitting room.

"Oh, I would not, not really, anyway, but my ma would, sir. She chases my pa out of the smial with a broomstick!" Frodo replied.

"Oh-ho! Well, then perhaps it is best if I go outside. Join me, lad?"

"Yes, sir." The two began to walk to the back entrance.

"You know, Frodo," Bilbo said upon reaching the door, "you needn't call me 'sir.' You may call me Bilbo like the others. We are cousins."

"That is true, but I were –"

"'Was,' Frodo-lad. It is best to use proper grammar. Other hobbits will take your opinion more seriously if you use proper grammar."

"Yes, sir," Frodo answered. "That's a good lad." Bilbo opened the door and let Frodo out.

Frodo proceeded to answer his comment from before. "I was thinking that, seeing you are older than I, it wouldn't be proper."

"Ah!" Bilbo said in realization and a smile lit up on his face. "That would pose a problem for a young mind. Don't change, Frodo my lad; don't change. Then, I suppose you could call me 'uncle' as it is the nearest relation."

"I like you, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo replied with a smile.

"Very good; very good," he said, an idea forming in his mind. "I like you, too, my boy." Bilbo lit his pipe.

"Now, do you think you can tell me of your adventures?"

Bilbo laughed. "I don't suppose I saw that coming from you, lad, but of course, I will. Now…"

TBC...

A/N: Please, leave a review. Thanks for reading. :)