It has been a week since they were buried. He sits alone in his bedroom. Many pairs of feet scuffle up and down the hallways, going about their daily business. They've already forgotten about them, but he hasn't. He'll never forget about them.

"Darling, it's time for bed."

Frodo's shoulders slumped, and he looked up at his mother standing over him. She always stood the same: both hands on her hips, feet apart, a strict but friendly expression on her face. She was constant, never changing. He loved that about her. She was someone he could depend on.

"But I'm almost finished with my drawing!" Frodo protested.

Primula cocked her head, and held out a hand. "Let me see."

He handed his mother the parchment. She slanted it to the firelight, intently examining it like it was an important test Frodo had to pass. A moment later, her lips curled into a smile and she returned her gaze to her son. "Is this a troll bagging a dwarf?"

Frodo's face split into a wide smile. "Yes, ma'am. I'm illustrating Uncle Bilbo's book for him."

Primula laughed. Upon first viewing, you could tell that the large figure was a troll by it's ugly, distorted features, but she had to guess at the little figure with the big nose. She was glad Frodo hadn't corrected her and said that the big nosed figure was Bilbo.

"This is a wonderful illustration!" she praised, kneeling to run a hands over his curls.

"Bilbo will love all the pictures you have drawn for his book, but I think it's time to put the quill down and get some sleep."

Frodo pouted. "All right."

He has no more tears. He cried when they were pulled from the water. He cried when they were being placed into the ground. He cried until he made himself sick. There wasn't much they could do to make him feel better, though not many had tried.

"Come along, Frodo-dear. It is time to say goodbye."

Esmeralda led the lad down the hallway and out Brandy Hall to a carriage to take them to the burial grounds. Frodo stared out the window, looking but not seeing. Esmeralda held him to her side, but he didn't respond to her embrace.

"Everything will be all right, Frodo-dear. Drogo and Primula loved you more than anything. You'll be fine. You'll be taken care of." Esmeralda went on and on, spitting out comforting sentence. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, desperately thinking of anything that would take him away from the idea of burying his parents.

It was Bilbo that had held him at the funeral. The love and sympathy from his old cousin comforted him like nothing else could. A soft knock on the door, and there was Bilbo.

"How are you, lad?"

Frodo bites his lip, and says quietly, "Why did this happen, Uncle Bilbo?"

Bilbo can feel tears prick the corners of his eyes. He kneels down beside his young cousin, cupping Frodo's cheek. "There are so many things that can't be explained, but there is a reason for them."

It's not the answer he wants to hear, and Frodo turns back to the drawing lying in front of him on the bed. Bilbo smiles weakly, and takes one in his hand. "Is this the dragon?"

Frodo nods. He'd been working on the illustrations a few months now. He had almost finished the drawing of Smaug before the accident.

"Well, these are lovely," Bilbo says, flipping through the pile. "Frodo-lad, I have a proposition for you." He pauses, waiting for Frodo to look at him, but the lad stares at the floor. "I want you to come live with me at Bag End."

That, however, catches his attention and he stares up at Bilbo with wild, frightened eyes.

"Are you all right, Frodo?" Bilbo asks in concern.

He had thought the tears were over with. Thought his eyes would be as dry as sand forever. But, they aren't. "I want to come, but I can't."

"It's fine, lad. I already talked to Saradoc and Esmeralda. They think it will be good for you to live with me."

"It's not that!" Frodo yells, and leaps off the bed. "I can't leave them!"

Bilbo is confused for a moment, but then realizes what he means. "Oh, Frodo. Drogo and Primula are gone. They're not coming back."

"I know that!" Frodo screams. A sob erupts in his throat. "I just can't leave them." He falls to his knees, face buried in the rug.

When Bilbo leaves the next morning, he tells Frodo the offer will stand indefinitely. He watches Bilbo leave, so many conflicting thoughts racing in his mind. He finds himself at their grave markers in a large field half a mile from Brandy Hall. He stares at the rectangle shapes of grass. He squats between their graves. They're right there, and yet so far he'll never be able to see them again.