Author notes:
This was written for Marigold's Challenge 28. The given elements were at least one naked hobbit, a wild animal and a nap.

Special thanks to Slightly Tookish for betaing!

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Of Bagginses and Baths

Primula smoothed the thin white linen over the clothesline, taking in the fresh scent of lavender. Stretching her back she closed her eyes for a second, allowing a soft breeze to disturb the hair loosening from her knot. Birds were twittering and in the distance she heard the soft murmur of the river and the muted sound of children playing at its shore.

Suddenly another clear voice met her ear. A smile lit up her face as she turned to greet it. Wearing naught but a broad, gap-toothed grin her son stumbled out of the smial as fast as his short legs would carry him. His bright blue eyes shimmered in the sunlight. His soft skin was tanned only the slightest bit but his legs, hands and cheeks were covered with mud and Primula ran to catch him before he got hold of her laundry.

"Up to mischief, are you, my lad?" she asked as he buried his face in her shoulder, giggling. Out of the corner of his eye Frodo squinted at his father who appeared in the doorway, waistcoat abandoned, sleeves rolled up. Primula smiled as he approached her. "It seems you're having trouble."

"Not at all, my dear," Drogo replied cheerfully, taking her charge from her and kissing her on the cheek. Frodo objected just a little by trying to wriggle from his father's arms, but grinned nonetheless.

Primula watched her two Bagginses disappear. Father and son were very much alike, not only in looks. Both shared their dark curls and a stubbornness that sometimes brought even her to the end of her wits. Her husband however, claimed it was the strong will of the Brandybucks that Frodo had inherited. Of course, their son would not have any of his father's lesser traits.

Less than ten minutes later Primula found herself amidst the kitchen garden eradicating her tomato stems that no longer carried the delicious vegetables. Their season was over and soon all her gardens would be empty and bleak again. She looked up from her work when frantic shrieks echoed through the open kitchen window. Water splashed. There was a yell of "No!" and an answering, annoyed "Frodo!", then, as if someone was put to death, more, even louder, screams followed.

Primula's face was a mask of compassion, but who she pitied more, her son or her husband, she could not say. Yet she almost smiled again as she wiped her fingers on her apron. She knew that ordeal only too well, but Drogo had insisted on putting himself through this all alone, though he certainly had not quite known what he had got himself into. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" she called through the window, hoping her husband would hear her.

There was another sound of splashing; more yelps, then her husband panted an answer. "I - ow! - I can manage!"

Primula waited a moment longer before returning to her work. She had just regained her mattock when her son raced round the corner again. His face was flushed from tears and the last wet lines glistened in the evening sun. But all in all, Frodo was as dirty as before.

"Mummy," he whined sniffling, hiding behind her skirts, and wiping his eyes with them.

Primula sighed, turning round to gather her lad in her arms and soothe him. "Hush, dear," she whispered, kissing his brow.

"No bath!" Frodo declared, pouting and looking at her with trembling lips and huge, pitiable eyes. Oh, those eyes! Primula had known she was lost to them the moment she first beheld them. What was worse, Frodo knew about their effect on her.

Primula looked up as her husband appeared at the edge of the garden. His hair was tousled and his shirt and breeches were wet. He looked very exhausted as he exchanged a glance with her. She knew what that gaze meant. 'I thought he would be more tired after skipping his afternoon nap.'

They had allowed him stay up since Rory and Gilda were visiting together with their sons. Both Drogo and Primula had looked forward to a quiet evening in exchange, for surely Frodo would tire early and sleep soon once in bed. But so far their son looked anything but sleepy. A grumpy Frodo usually accompanied any suggestion of bathing.

"So, you can manage, can't you?" Primula asked matter-of-factly looking from her son, who was currently busy sticking his tongue out, to said son's father.

Drogo gave the lad a stern glance, causing him to gasp and hide behind her skirts again. Sighing in defeat her husband shook his head. "I would if I got him into that tub without kicking and screaming."

Primula tilted her head and smiled a little. At the moment it was definitely Drogo who had more of her sympathy. She had dealt with her grubby lad ever so often, knowing some treats that tricked him into forgetting his dislike of water, but Drogo, who usually worked in the fields all afternoon and was hardly ever home before their son was in bed, knew nothing about the trials of bathing. Taking pity in her husband she said, "There's a wooden boat on the shelf. Put it into the water, play with it, and watch."

Drogo looked cross. "No son of mine will bathe with a boat." That said he gathered their protesting faunt up again and turned back to the smial.

Primula smiled despite herself. Though he agreed to live at the Brandywine and even went out on it with her from time to time, Drogo had not yet overcome his dislike of boats. He was a Baggins, after all, and could not quite leave behind his Westfarthing origin. Buckland was not as much his home as it was hers and some notions of his would always remain those of folk on the other side of the river.

"It works wonders," she called after him in spite of Drogo's muttering.

A gust of wind blew into her face causing her to shiver for her skin was wet with sweat. If Drogo did not hurry it would soon be her who would jump into that tub voluntarily. After another fit of screaming made her flinch Primula closed her eyes and groaned. "Stubborn Baggins," she grumbled under her breath, not sure whether she meant the young or the old one.

Primula went back to gardening when all of a sudden there was silence. The stillness struck her for it seemed to her as if the very air had gone quiescent. There were no more bird calls, no children laughing in the distance. With her heart pounding in her chest she lifted her head, straining her ears to listen. Silence; not even the splashing of water. Had Drogo succeeded in the end or was something amiss?

Feeling just the tiniest bit uneasy she got up, cleaned her hands at her apron and went to the backdoor. Hurriedly but without causing any noise she made for the bathroom where a fire had been lit. A dim light streamed into the hall and Primula felt her tenseness ease when she heard her husband speak.

Secretly she peered into the bathroom smiling at the sight before her. Obviously Drogo had admitted defeat, finally understanding that Frodo was her son also and therefore enjoyed boats. With his hair wet from sweat and steaming water her husband knelt on the slightly flooded floor and washed his babbling son's back. All the while he talked about a giant octopus making for his lad's boat or bellybutton and every so often the sponge in his hand would wander from Frodo's back to the child's belly, tickling him and making him giggle and squeal.

Primula smiled contently, her gaze warming with the love she felt for those two. Sometimes they might need a little persuasion but more often than not she knew exactly what her Bagginses needed.

Outside the tomatoes waited to be uprooted but they could wait a little longer. Feeling at peace with the scene before her Primula leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her two loved ones enjoying each other. Those were the moments she lived for.

~THE END~