On a Moonlit Night

By: Elemmírë

Summary: A look at the events surrounding the circumstances that left Frodo an orphan.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This was written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 34 in which I had to write about someone taken unawares by something or someone & also include the following elements: a swarm of bats, a game played on a lawn, & a letter in the Post.

Drogo is 71, Primula is 60, & Frodo is 11½ (ages 45½, 38½, & 7 in Man years)

‘Boats are quite tricky enough for those that sit still without looking further for the cause of trouble.’ J.R.R. Tolkien’s, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter One: A Long-Expected Party

"Frodo! Come along now, dearest. It's time to go," Primula Baggins called out to her 11½-year old son, as she folded a pair of his little breeches with care. She soon felt a tugging at her skirts and she turned to find Frodo standing behind her, clutching Beorn his toy bear in his hands.

"I'm all ready, Mama," he declared matter-of-factly.

"Are you now?" Primula smiled and smoothed her son's wayward mop of curls as only a mother's hand can before turning to pack the folded breeches into the lad's small traveling pack.

Just then, the front door to their guest apartment opened and Drogo Baggins strode forth bearing a large picnic basket, which he set down on the kitchen table.

"Daddy!" Frodo dropped Beorn and ran to his father, giving him as big a hug as he could, his little arms nowhere near to fully reaching around Drogo's more than ample waist.

“Hello to you too, my lad," Drogo greeted warmly. He bent and easily lifted his son into his arms, resting the small hobbit in the crook of one elbow.

"Would you like to see the picnic dinner I had the cook prepare special for you mum and I?" Drogo whispered loud enough for his beloved wife to hear. He teasingly lifted one corner of the picnic basket and inhaled deeply.

"Oh yes, Daddy. What good things did Cook bake for you?" Frodo squirmed in his father's embrace, trying to peer down into the basket for a better view.

Drogo let the lid fall back into place. "Are you really sure you want to see, Frodo?" he asked with a twinkle in his warm brown eyes.

"Yes, Daddy. I'm really sure!" Frodo squealed when his father began to tickle his ribs, as he expectantly knew he would. His father was a Baggins after all.

"Drogo," Primula admonished, her own twinkle of mirth and mischief showing in her large blue-green eyes. Drogo was the best father to their son that she could have ever asked for. It was no secret that Primula loved watching the special little moments like this between her two very most special Baggins lads.

With a dramatic flare, Drogo opened the lid the of the picnic basket fully and allowed his son to peer inside. Frodo's big blue eyes widened and the growing hobbit lad hungrily licked his lips.

"Mmm. Oh boy! Daddy got you a buttercream cake, Mama ... with strawberries!"

Frodo looked up at his parents mournfully. "Are you sure I can't come too?" he asked them once again before stealing another glance at the luscious, red, mouth-watering berries. Strawberries were one of his absolute favorites, just like they were Mama’s.

Drogo gave a hearty laugh and hugged his only son once more before setting the child down on his furry feet. "I thought you were excited to be spending the night with Saradoc and Esmeralda?" he said.

"I am excited. I've never gotten to stay with them before, but I would be just as excited to go boating with you and Mama," Frodo wheedled.

Primula knelt before her son, holding open his little pale blue jacket and helping him into it. "I know sweetheart," she said. "But you know that your father always takes me out for an evening boat ride under the moonlight on the last day of our visit to Brandy Hall."

"I know," Frodo sighed. "Uncle Rory and Auntie Gilda always say that 'as much as mothers and fathers love to be with their children, they need to spend time alone together as well.'" he quoted.

Drogo laughed again and ruffled his son's dark curls with affection when the lad stared wistfully at the cake and strawberries in the open picnic basket. "You keep listening to your uncle and aunt, for they are right, Frodo my lad."

He closed the lid of the basket, restraining himself from snitching a much-desired finger-lick of frosting from the scrumptious looking cake. "I'll tell you what. If you're a good lad for Sara and Esme, then your Mama and I will save you some cake and berries for a snack tomorrow."

Frodo's fair face with its rosy cheeks and lightly freckled nose brightened considerably. He was so busy sneaking one last look inside the picnic basket, that he didn’t see his mother pick up Beorn and stow the bear in his pack with all her loving care.

"Now, Sara and Esme are waiting and I know they have many fun things planned for you to do with them tonight." Primula fussed with Frodo's jacket before giving him a kiss and taking him by the hand, while holding his pack in the other. Drogo carried the picnic basket and soon the small family (by hobbit standards) were on their way, walking through the maze of bustling round tunnels that encompassed Brandy Hall.

They soon arrived at the section of the Hall that contained the Master's apartments along with those belonging to his sons'. Little Frodo stared up at the round door made of heavy wood, that his parents stopped at. In the center of the door was a shiny brass knob with a knocker. Above this was a nameplate that also bore the Brandybuck family crest. "S. & E. Brandybuck," Frodo read aloud.

"Very good, Frodo," Primula praised. She and her husband were so very proud that their spirited child was also extremely bright and had displayed remarkable reading skills at such an early age. It was no wonder that dear old Bilbo enjoyed teaching the lad every opportunity he got--and so far, Frodo seemed to love books and reading as much as his Uncle Bilbo.

"Is this where Uncle Sara and Auntie Esme live?" Frodo asked curiously. He had been to the Master's apartment many times, as that was where Uncle Rory and Auntie Gilda lived, but he had never been to their son's apartments before today.

Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck were really his first and second cousins, but Frodo had been calling them uncle and aunt ever since he was five years of age and theirs had been the first wedding he had ever attended. With a child's viewpoint, Frodo had once assumed that when his older cousins related to him got married, they in turn became his uncles and aunts. Since beginning to learn his family trees, he now had a better grasp on genealogy and knew this wasn't so, but Sara and Esme found the titles endearing and didn't mind in the least.

"Yes," Drogo replied. "This is where Sara and Esme live. And right across the hall there, is where Merimac, Begonia, and baby Berilac live," he pointed out.

Berilac was the latest addition to the already very large Brandybuck clan. The new babe had been born at the beginning of the month and was one of the reasons the Baggins family had traveled to Buckland for a visit. Berilac was the first grandchild of the Master (Primula's eldest brother), and he was also Drogo and Primula's very first great-nephew. Frodo understood that the new baby was his first-cousin, once-removed on his mother's side, but he was simply thrilled to finally have a younger cousin, for all his cousins on both sides of his family were much older than he. He couldn't wait to be able to show Berilac all of the neat things he'd learned so far or share with him the stories of adventure that Uncle Bilbo shared with him.

"Would you like to do the honor, Frodo-lad?" Drogo indicated the shiny brass knocker.

Frodo nodded eagerly; he stood on his tiptoes, reached up, and lifted the knocker, letting it fall back upon the door. After a moment, the heavy round door swung inward to reveal Saradoc and Esmeralda. They greeted the Bagginses warmly with hugs and kisses and ushered them inside. Sara took Frodo's small pack from his aunt's hands.

"Besides his nightshirt and a set of clothes for tomorrow, I packed him an extra set in case the first should get dirty or stained," Primula explained to the young couple. She wasn't nervous per say about her nephew and his lovely wife watching Frodo for them. It was only for the one night and Saradoc had always been very good with the lad when he himself had only been a tweenager. No, she wasn't worried ... not exactly. It was only the understandable concern of a mother for her only begotten child, she knew.

"Primmie, Frodo will be fine," Drogo reassured his wife, knowing how she fretted whenever she was forced to leave her child behind even when it was with the best of relatives. He pulled her close to him, placing a steady arm around her waist. "Now bid our son a good night, dearest. We have to get going or we'll miss the sunset."

Primula knelt on the floor and hugged Frodo close to her, as if she would never see him again, although she knew he'd be bouncing up and down at Sara's front door the next morning, waiting for them to return. "Be a good lad for Sara and Esme, Frodo-love, and mind your manners. Daddy and I will see you again in the morning." She kissed his forehead, tenderly brushing his curls away from his eyes, studying his sweet little face before standing once more.

"Oh, I almost forgot. There's also one of Frodo's storybooks in his pack; he loves to hear a story before he goes to sleep ... most times more than one, but I leave that to your discretion. Beorn is also tucked away in there should Frodo need him," Primula whispered the last. Frodo was at that age where he did not want to be seen by the other lads and lasses carting around a stuffed toy bear. However, he was not yet loathe to sleep without its security either.

Drogo, too, knelt and smothered his only child in the most warmest of hugs. He kissed his son on the cheek, before playfully tapping the lightly freckled nose with his forefinger. He smiled when Frodo laughed and threw his little arms about his legs. "You heard your mother, lad. Behave and we'll see you again in the morning."

Standing next to Auntie Esmeralda, Frodo watched his parents leave for their evening out together. He waved at them, calling out, "Goodnight Mama, goodnight Daddy! Goodbye!"

"Good-bye, Frodo. Goodnight," they chorused.

And with that, they walked out the front door and disappeared down the hallway. Saradoc shut the round door and turned to face his wife and youngest first cousin. None of them knew just how permanent their situation was going to be come morning.

* * * * *

'... Old Took's great-grand-uncle Bullroarer, who was so huge (for a hobbit) that he could ride a horse. He charged the ranks of the goblins of Mount Gram in the Battle of the Green Fields, and knocked their king Golfimbul's head clean off with a wooden club. It sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit-hole, and in this way the battle was won and the game of Golf invented at the same moment.' J.R.R.Tolkien's The Hobbit, Chapter One: An Unexpected Party

Frodo was shown around the apartment and he was surprised to realize just how big the Master's apartment really was when compared with Uncle Sara's and Auntie Esme's. He supposed the Master of the Hall was entitled to have the biggest suites however, especially since Grandfather Gorbadoc and Grandmother Mirabella (both of whom he'd never met) had had seven children to share a smial with.

After the trio ate a delicious dinner (during which Frodo had decided to show them his very loose bottom tooth) they had enjoyed a walk in the gardens. Frodo liked the gardens of Brandy Hall well enough, but he secretly thought that Uncle Bilbo's gardens were much nicer and better kept by Master Gamgee.

They soon came to an ivy-covered brick wall and door, to which Saradoc produced a key from his pocket. Curious, Frodo cocked his head. His mother had taken him by this place many times before, but she had never unlocked a hidden door. Perhaps there was a dragon hidden behind the door, just like Smaug had been behind the locked backdoor to the tunnel leading into the mountain in the tale of Uncle Bilbo's Adventure!

Saradoc grinned at Frodo's curious bafflement and ruffled the child's dark, unruly curls. "This is where my father keeps the only dragon to be found in the Shire, Frodo," he teased good-naturedly.

Esmeralda smothered a laugh with one hand at the jaw-dropping expression on the child's upturned face. She hadn't thought it possible, but Frodo's already wide eyes expanded even further in his small face.

"How did you know I was thinking that a dragon could be behind there?" Frodo demanded.

"Easy. You're a predictable Baggins." With that, Saradoc pushed open the door on its rusty hinges and gave Frodo a little shove inside.

Frodo stopped, standing absolutely still in his surprise. Before him spread out over the lush green lawn, was a golf course in miniature. He counted nine holes in all and each hole had some silly lawn ornament decorating its fairway. Frodo had only seen one other golf course before and that one had been much, much larger at the Great Smials of the Took family, who’s ancestor had invented the game. But what would a golf course be doing here across the river in Buckland at the home of the Brandybucks? Frodo felt his curiosity grow.

"How long has this been here, Uncle Sara? Mama never showed me this."

"I know Frodo … and I nearly had to beg your mother to allow me the honor of showing it to you. This course has been here for a very long time, lad. It was Grandfather Gorbadoc who'd had it built for Grandmother Mirabella as a wedding present to her. They added the fixtures later, one for each child they bore. My father's is the one at the first hole; your mother's is the one at the seventh hole. She and Uncle Dino used to take Mac and I here often when we were your age."

Of course! Grandmother Mirabella had been a Took and the youngest daughter of the Old Took. Frodo walked slowly around the miniature course, examining every detail. The first hole--Uncle' Rory's--was decorated with an iron sculpture of a magnificent pony, the pride of Buckland. His mother's was decorated with her name-flower, however, the primula flowers were painted and made from wood so that they would never wither away come cool weather. There was also a little running windmill, whose blades really turned; a family of ducks made from burnished copper; a miniature replica of a Brandybuck sailboat; big silly wooden mushrooms painted funny colors like red with white spots; and more wooden name-flowers for Aunt Amaranth and Auntie Asphodel. At the eighth hole spanned a little stone bridge across a small pond; over the arch of the bridge was engraved the names of Frodo's maternal grandparents, joined together by a heart in the middle at the apex of the bridge. It was all so very grand indeed to the young hobbit child.

From a nearby shed, Sara took out three balls made of hard leather and stuffed with sawdust until they were a perfect round sphere. He also present three long wooden clubs, making sure to find one of the child-sized ones for Frodo.

"Are you going to teach me how to play?" the lad asked eagerly. Sara and Esme laughed in delight at the youth's exuberance before settling in for a lovely evening of teaching their charge how to play the time-honored game of golf, discovered by Bandobras 'Bullroarer' Took over a century ago ....

.... Much to Frodo's surprise, the ninth hole of the golf course truly did contain a dragon. The final hole of the course was set further away from the others and the player had to blindly aim the ball down a curving incline. When Frodo had climbed down the few steps leading to the hole and walked around a well-placed hedge, he had been very shocked to see a highly-detailed iron replica of a dragon's body facing him and protecting the hole as if it was a precious jewel.

Saradoc explained. "It was Bilbo who, after having played a round of golf during one visit, gifted Grandmum Mirabella--his aunt you know--with the dragon for his birthday. The story goes that he'd told her she would be able to appreciate it for she was a daughter of the Old Took, and let it be a reminder to her of the adventures the Tooks were known for whilst living far away here in Buckland. The dragon was crafted by his Dwarven friends, upon Bilbo’s request."

On closer look, Frodo observed the dragon to be sleeping, it’s body curved around the hole. The layout of the ninth hole had been cleverly designed indeed, for in order for one to sink the golf ball, it first had to pass through the open jaws of the dragon, through its curled body, then out the tail and directly into the hole.

The highlight of Frodo's day came when he discovered that he had hit his golf ball straight into the last hole. He grinned at the dragon laying inert around the hole. "Just like old Bullroarer," he whispered proudly.

* * * * *

Primula licked the last of the buttercream frosting from her fingers and leaned back against the great oak with a contented sigh and her wine glass in hand. Drogo has really gone all out this time, she thought with a loving smile at her husband of over 20 years.

Besides the buttercream cake with strawberries, their meal had consisted of little sandwiches made of thin slices of ham and watercress; cold potato salad; an herb-roasted chicken with gravy; jellied cranberries; honey-glazed turnips and carrots; stewed dandelions mixed with the leftover hazelnuts from Autumn; freshly baked pumpernickel bread with butter; and a bottle of fine wine--mandatory on any picnic. Oh, and there had also been that fresh bouquet of her name-flower that he'd managed to have hidden away too. While they ate, Drogo had deftly weaved the stems into a flower chain for her to wear.

Drogo slipped his arm around his wife's shoulders and nuzzled her creamy neck, his free hand idly fingering the laces of the bodice of the new dress she wore. Just as she had when she was newly of age, Primula let out a giggle that warmed Drogo all the way to his furry toes. Primula lifted her head, batting long eyelashes and soon the hobbit couple were engaged in a deep kiss, the world around them lost in their unbridled passion.

They had been coming up to this spot underneath the lone oak tree on the hill overlooking the Brandywine River since they began courting, all those many years before. This was their favorite spot and also one that held much meaning for the both of them. It was where they had once shared their first true kiss under a Summer's Sun ... and many more since then. It was where Drogo had proposed and she accepted. It was where their wedding had taken place and also where Primula had first told her husband she was finally with child after many years of marriage and wanting for a family.

And now every time they came to stay at Brandy Hall whether it be for a wedding, birth, funeral, holiday, or just to visit with family, Primula and Drogo always made sure they journeyed up to "their tree" as it had been dubbed by the Brandybucks.

Their kiss dwindled to an end and they rested their curly heads together, sitting back against the thick trunk of the oak tree to watch the Sun set amidst a fading blue sky scattered with clouds of purple, pink, and pale green. The heart Drogo had once carved into the bole of the tree, bearing their initials and the year (1355), had now grown to be just over their curly heads.

After such a spectacular sunset, the hobbit couple made their way hand-in-hand down the hillside, across a meadow dotted with wildflowers, down a small dirt path that twisted and turned through the woods, until they came to a stone pathway that meandered around the gardens of Brandy Hall. They followed this path for a ways until it brought them to the river and the row of wooden boats moored next to a short dock.

Leaving their picnic basket on the dock to retrieve when they returned, Drogo found the Bagginses' red-painted boat and eased himself into it with great care after inspecting it thoroughly. The boat had once been a gift to the couple on their fifth wedding anniversary by Primula's parents, Gorbadoc and Mirabella. It was tradition to gift the married couple with an item made from wood upon their fifth wedding anniversary and while Drogo had found the interpretation of a rowboat to be amusing, it had made Primula thrilled to no end for she loved the water so.

Growing up in Hobbiton, long the ancestral home of the Baggins family, Drogo had had little experience with boats and such. Boating wasn’t considered to be natural and the folk there simply fished The Water from the bank or dipped their toes in its cool water on a hot Summer’s day, but nothing more than that. Why, the first time he'd ever set foot inside a boat, he'd been shaking much to Primula's dismay. It was only his deep love for Gorbadoc’s youngest and most beautiful daughter that had prompted him to even think about setting foot in a Brandybuck boat in the first place.

However with a bit of coaxing from Primula and her siblings, Drogo had learned to let go his white-knuckled grip on the sides of the boat and come to appreciate the joyful aspects of a day drifting on the currents of the Brandywine River. Primula and her four brothers, had taught Drogo over the years all he ever needed to know about boats until the stout hobbit could maneuver one with ease along the river and feel mostly comfortable doing it. Primula had been so very happy and proud the first time he had even taken her out upon the Brandywine River all by himself, although to this day he still remained a very poor swimmer despite the Brandybucks’ best efforts to teach him otherwise.

Drogo untied the thick ropes mooring the little red vessel they'd named 'Ruby' after his mother, and rowed until he was even with the dock where Primula stood waiting, the full Moon casting its silver glow over her fair skin. Holding the rowboat steady, Drogo took his wife's hand and helped her step into the boat. Primula smiled her slow sweet smile when her husband kissed her proffered hand before he took up the oars and began to row into the night upon the moonlit water.

* * * * *

"One more! One more story! Pleeeaaassse?" Frodo begged, bouncing on the big bed. He wasn't ready to fall asleep ... not just yet anyway.

Unable to resist his little cousin's big blue (and now pleading) eyes, Saradoc gave in rather easily. "All right, Frodo. One more story--but only one, mind you--and then it's time for sleep."

"It's past time for sleep," Esmeralda whispered with a hint of worry in her tone. What if the lad overslept in the morning and then was cranky for the rest of the day ... and all because she and Sara had allowed the child to stay up much later past his bedtime than was normal? Auntie Primula and Uncle Drogo would never let them mind Frodo ever again!

“Relax my love. One more story won’t do any harm.” Sara randomly flipped through the many illustrated pages of the large storybook with its seemingly endless supply of tales. "How about The Hobbit & the Magic Oven?" he suggested. It didn't look to be too short so that Frodo would want yet another tale, but on the other hand it didn't look to be overly long either.

Frodo's little face lit up and he clapped his hands together in glee. "Oh yes! That's one of my favorites!" he shouted happily.

"Frodo, remember to use your indoor voice, please," Esme reminded the exuberant lad gently for the umpteenth time that evening. She wondered again how Aunt Primmie did it--Frodo was such a spirited hobbit child full of never-ending energy it seemed. They had played three rounds of miniature golf with him and it was only due to the setting of the Sun that Frodo was agreeable to coming back indoors, where they had played with an old wooden game that had used to be Saradoc and Merimac’s as children. The bright lad also contained an abundance of insatiable curiosity that was surprising for one of Baggins decent, although Frodo had some Took in him as well. Why, after only a few hours with the little one, Esme felt ready to go to bed herself!

Frodo clapped his hands over his mouth and blushed. "Oops. I'm sorry, Auntie," he apologized.

Esme let the child cuddle next to her as Frodo settled in to hear another story about a kind old hobbitess who one day discovered that her cast-iron oven was magical, producing all sorts of delicious treats on a whim for its mistress. Sara was sitting atop the bed on the opposite side with the large book propped on the child's raised knees, so that Frodo might be able to see the colorful pictures easily enough ... and help to turn the pages when it was time.

The couple had been quite surprised during the first story when they realized that Frodo had been following along with the words being read aloud, for he'd corrected Saradoc on accidentally skipping a sentence. As if to prove to himself that Frodo was really able to read the higher level of text in the book and that the tale was not merely memorized, Sara had started to make more purposeful mistakes while reading aloud to the youngster. Frodo had been able to correct nearly every one. They'd known that Frodo could read, but they had been caught unawares as to how advanced the 11½ -year old's skills really were. It appeared to them that Frodo could probably read at the level of a child in their mid-teen’s with great ease.

As Esme listened to her husband's best storytelling voice and herself became wrapped in the tale, she eventually felt Frodo's head grow heavier and heavier until it sank against her bosom and then jerked upright again. Her instinct to mother overpowered her and she tentatively brushed her fingers through his soft curls, damp from the lad's bubble bath earlier that evening. Esme watched mesmerized as the dark curls entwined themselves around her petite hands until they sprang loose. Oh, how her heart ached for a child of her own!

Somehow the now sleepy-eyed child had managed to stay awake during the entire story. When Sara closed the cover of the storybook and set it aside on the nightstand, Frodo allowed himself to be tucked into the great bed with Beorn the bear at his side. He snuggled deep into the feather mattress and pillow as the crisp linen sheet and a mid-weight blanket were tucked over him. He gave his uncle and aunt each a goodnight kiss before turning to the side and closing his eyes. Frodo was quickly lulled into a very sound sleep by the soothing sounds of the river outside the open window as the water flowed downstream and lapped against the banks.

A few hours later and just before they were ready to settle into bed themselves, Saradoc and Esmeralda poked their heads into their guestroom, making sure its pint-sized occupant was sleeping soundly. Sara closed the round door to the bedroom and wordlessly followed his wife to their own bed. He wondered when, if ever, they would be blessed with a child of their own. He hoped to one day have a lad that was as sweet-natured and a joy as Frodo was.

It was then that Saradoc Brandybuck remembered Aunt Primmie’s sound advice (learned from her sister-in-law, Dora Baggins) ... good things come to those who wait.

* * * * *

Drogo Baggins didn't know how it had all come down to this. He held Primula's limp body tight in one arm whilst he tried desperately to grasp the slippery hull of their overturned boat with the other. He once more kicked with his legs against the strong current, struggling to keep his head and Primula's above the water. The boat remained just out of reach.

"Help!" he yelled as loud as he could, sputtering in the chilly water. "Somebody help!"

Having rowed out to their favorite spot on the river, the hobbit couple had been enjoying drifting down the moon-lit river on a gentle current. They had been holding hands and cuddling close to one another on the same bench underneath a warm blanket, as they always did, when all of the sudden a swarm of bats flew over them on their way to hunt from a nearby cave that had been formed long ago by a sinking stream.

Deemed symbols of the night, bats were considered to be of a foreboding nature and Primula had screamed when she had felt one of the supposed dark creatures tangle itself in her long hair. Taken unawares, she had stood up rather abruptly in an effort to dislodge the evil thing, shrieking when it remained fast in her curls. The weight in the small boat had suddenly been unevenly distributed and it had dipped to one side, causing the oars to slip out of their locks and Primula to fall into the cold water, knocking her head severely on a submerged boulder, unbeknownst to her husband at first.

Knowing his wife could swim very well, Drogo had concentrated his efforts on regaining the oars before they were lost to them completely and they had no way of getting back to shore. The swarm of bats had flown off as quick as they had appeared, in search of insects and fruit. The wild rocking of the boat had stopped and Drogo had waiting with baited breath for his wife to reappear.

"Primmie?" he had called out nervously, peering over the side of the boat. When she hadn't appeared, Drogo had grown scared. "Primula?" he'd yelled, his troubled brown eyes scanning the still waters of the wide river.

Drogo had heard a dull thump sound on the hull of the boat and he had leaned over the opposite side of the hull to see his beloved wife of over twenty years float up from the depths of the river. She had been face-down in the water.

Drogo had tried in vain to grab her and haul her into the boat, but the currents of the river were growing stronger and she had drifted just out of his reach. With no thoughts to his own safety, as he was a very poor swimmer indeed, Drogo had pushed himself into the water (overturning the boat in his haste) and dog-paddled until he was able to reach Primula.

Turning her over, he'd gasped as he had caught sight of her face in the light from the Moon. Primula had been very pale, save for the large bruise forming at her temple where she'd apparently struck a large river rock. Blood had begun to well and flow from the unsightly wound and Drogo had begun to panic when he could not wake his wife by calling out to her. He hadn't been able to tell in the dark water, but it had looked as if she were not breathing.

Securing Primula under his right arm so that her head was above the water, Drogo had tried to swim back to the boat. The overturned boat had drifted farther and farther away from him until he had been quickly exhausted by his efforts. The boat's tow rope had trailed behind, as if mocking him that he could reach out for it and grab hold.

When he had been able to swim no further, Drogo had started yelling for help, praying that someone ... anyone would be able to hear him. But no one ever came.

An undertow had taken them farther down the Brandywine and it was all the hobbit could do to keep himself and Primula afloat in the water. His flailing limbs were constantly getting entangled in his wife's long skirts and the burden of both their sodden clothes was weighing them down. Primula had not regained consciousness and Drogo was quickly losing his own struggle to survive. The cold water chilled his limbs until they were numb and he could barely feel his fingers close around Primula. His head slipped under the water and panicking, he breathed some in, coughing and choking when he fought to breach the surface.

Suddenly, Primula's body was ripped away from his numb, unfeeling fingers. The laces of her dress had been snagged by an overhanging tree limb and she remained bobbing facedown in place, whilst he was forced to continue on downstream in the river's unrelenting and cold grasp. The only part of her that remained clenched in his hand was the red velvet ribbon that had been tied into her beautiful thick curls.

"PRIMULA!!!" he sobbed, choking on the water he swallowed. All the poor hobbit could do was struggle to keep afloat and watch in heart-wrenching agony as his beloved wife faded from his view as he flowed ever southward down the quickening river's currents.

Drogo's head once again slipped beneath the black surface of the cold water and he held his breath, but he no longer possessed the strength to struggle back to the surface. Frodo was now the only thing his stubborn Baggins' will fought to keep alive for, as Primmie would surely die now ... if she hadn't already. As he sank like a stone, Drogo flailed about under the water in his panic. He didn't know it, but this was the wrong thing to do, as it used up more of his body's limited oxygen supply until there was no more left. His body's natural breathing reflex increased to the point where he tried to breathe, even though he knew he was still submerged.

Drogo gave one last weak struggle to reach upward, knowing this was his last chance. His throat, which had at first felt like it was closing up, relaxed. Feeling his lungs disconcertedly fill with cold water instead of life-giving air, Drogo's last conscious thought was of his only child, safely tucked into a warm bed back at Brandy Hall under the care of the Brandybucks.

* * * * *

Early the next morning just as the Sun was beginning to peek over the land, two fisher-hobbits--brothers from Standelf--took their father's wagon to the banks of the Brandywine River as they did every morning at this time. They were about to cast their large net into the river to fish, when they came upon a most gruesome discovery. There was a body of a male hobbit floating face-down in the river, obviously drowned.

Once their own horror at finding such a sight was contained, the pair were able to wade hip-deep into the cold water and use their fishing nets to retrieve and haul the body ashore. Not knowing who this strange gentlehobbit was or where he'd come from, the fisher-hobbits placed the stout body into the back of their wagon and covered it with the tarp they normally used to cover the day's catch with. Clenched tight in the rigorous hand of the gentlehobbit was a mud-spattered, water-logged red hair ribbon. The fisher-hobbits scanned the area with their keen eyes, but they did not see anyone else in or around the river and its banks that could have belonged to the mysterious hair ribbon.

After a brief discussion, it was decided that the body of the gentlehobbit should be brought to Brandy Hall whereas perhaps the identity of the hobbit was known and the Master of Buckland could properly notify the gentlehobbit's family. They never suspected just how close to home their unexpected and tragic news would hit all of the Hall.

Following the course of the winding river north towards Brandy Hall, the fisher-hobbits eventually came upon an overturned rowboat floating by a copse of overhanging willow trees. The red boat's tow rope was snagged in between the forked branches of one of the trees.

"That there's a Brandybuck boat," one of the fisher-hobbits called out to his brother, who'd remained with the wagon. Being uneducated, they were unable to read the little boat's name painted on the stern, but they were able to recognize the family crest of the Brandybuck family etched into the wood planking of the prow. Tying the overturned boat so that it was more securely moored to the tree, the brothers left it there for the time being. They could come back and retrieve it after they'd seen to the body of the poor drowned hobbit.

* * * * *

Rorimac Brandybuck was utterly stunned. He sat alone on the front stoop to the main entrance of his family's ancestral home staring at the cold, sodden, and lifeless body of his brother-in-law. Drogo's normally ruddy cheeks were grey; his lips, nose, ears, and extremities a purplish-blue. His clothing was torn in places and silt from the Brandywine was clumped in the dark curly hair of his head and feet. His entire body (substantial even for a hobbit) was swollen with absorbed water. The unmistakable stench of death rent the otherwise fresh Spring air.

Rory simply could not believe the sight in front of him. This couldn’t be Drogo Baggins, the wealthy but shy and quiet gentlehobbit who’d fallen deeply in love with his baby sister …... and yet it was.

The fisher-hobbits' words ran through his mind over and over, repeatedly. "I'm sorry Mr. Brandybuck, sir. But we was out fer our mornin' catch, you see an' we found this here poor soul floatin' face-down along the path of the river. We pulled 'im out an' figurin' he's a gentlehobbit, we'd thought you or one o' yours might know who he is, sir. We also found an overturned boat 'bout a quarter mile up river from where we found this poor sir. 'Twas definitely a Brandybuck boat, Master Brandybuck. A red one. We'll go back an' retrieve it fer ye, if ye like ...."

Letting out a chocked cry of anguish, Rory clenched his hand around the sodden hair ribbon. One of the fisher-hobbits had pressed it into his hand before they left to retrieve the missing boat. He'd automatically accepted it without even looking to see what it was that he held, quite disturbed that the fisher-hobbits denied seeing Primula anywhere on their journey to the Hall.

When he looked down to see one of his beloved baby sister's favorite hair ribbons in his hand, he suddenly felt overwhelmed with a multitude of feelings. He also felt very old.

Primula. His youngest sister and sibling. Where was she? She would never have left Drogo's side, not on purpose at any rate. What fate had befallen her? Was she drowned too? Or was she lying hurt somewhere, unable to send word or get help?

He'd never even realized they were missing, Rory thought bitterly, full of a sudden burst of anger. His fist clenched the ribbon even tighter until he was white-knuckled.

The servant who had awoken him at the fisher-hobbits' insistence came to stand beside his unusually silent master. He folded his hands together, then unfolded them and shoved them deep into his pockets, not knowing what else to do. Several long minutes later, the Master of Buckland stood up with a heavy sigh and re-covered dear Drogo's face with the corner of the tarp.

"Jarle, will you please take care of--" Rory took a deep breath, fighting back the tears and anguished sobs that wished to gush forth. Now was not the time for him to weep. There would be plenty of time for tears later; for now, he needed to be strong. He needed to act his part as the Master, no matter who it was that had died tragically ... no matter who it was that was still missing.

"Jarle, please take care of bringing Drogo's body inside. You may place him wherever you see fit to for now. After he has been cleaned and made proper, he may be laid over ice blocks in an empty guest suite to lie in state, until funeral arrangements can be made. I-I must see to my brothers and sisters, gather a search party together to find Primula, and then I ....... and then I must see to little Frodo," he whispered the last. How do I tell a child--my nephew--that his dear father has been drowned dead and ... and that his beautiful mother is missing?

His own father had prepared him for many things for the inherited position of Master, but never this.

The servant nodded his head sadly. He did not envy his Master's tasks. Today will be a hard one for all, he thought sadly. Mr. Drogo had been the nicest of hobbits. And what of poor Missus Primula?

Nearly an hour later, Rory found himself standing in front of his oldest son's front door. He'd left his youngest brother, Dinodas, in charge of overseeing the search for their missing sister and the general running of the Hall, while he himself prepared himself to do what would forever be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do in his life. With a heavy heart he knocked on Saradoc's round door, the noise sounding heavy and ominous to his own ears ....

* * * * *

Later that Night ...

To: Bilbo Baggins, Esquire & Master of Bag End

Bilbo reread the letter once more, still having trouble absorbing the shock of it all. He read again, then another time as well. His mind raced with a hundred thoughts once more. He had to tell Dora in person, of course. He then needed to call an emergency family meeting here at Bag End to inform the rest of those of the dwindling family name. "And now it's dwindled even more." Bilbo shook his head sadly, his tears of grief continuing to flow unchecked. He debated whether or not even to tell the S-B's as they were quite jealous of Drogo and Primula's relationship of good terms with him. He'd need to rent a pony cart from Farmer Cotton for Dora would no doubt be traveling with him, as she often did for such things and there was no way with her worsening arthritis she could travel by a pony’s back anymore. Would they have to stop at an inn along the way, for it was normally a two-day journey to Buckland? He certainly hoped not. And what of Dudo, for his wife had taken of serious ill as of late?

"And food, I'll need food and drink for the journey. ... MASTER HAMFAST??" Bilbo yelled at the top of his lungs, running outside into his beautiful garden. His trusted gardener would be a great help and know just what to do without him even asking. Bilbo planned to leave the day after tomorrow at the latest. Frodo needed him.

~The End~

Some of you may perhaps be wondering (and maybe a bit disappointed) as to why there is no mention of Frodo's reaction to the shocking news of his parents' unfortunate and untimely deaths. I chose not to include Frodo's reaction in this particular tale because I wanted the story to be more about the reactions of Primula and Drogo's family, which included many more than just their son. I wanted to explore the events of that fateful night, how the accident was happened upon by the fisher-hobbits, and how the Master of the Hall reacted, etc.

My other reason for not including Frodo here is that I will soon begin posting a multi-chaptered story focusing on the aftermath in the months following the tragedy, which will very much have young Frodo as part of its focus. I also have in the works (but far from being posted anytime soon) a tale which will follow Frodo through the stages of his grief.

I have made reference to Frodo's reaction in some of my other tales such as, "Life Goes On' and 'Lullaby', however.

~Elemmírë~

p.s. A great big THANK YOU to all who have read this tale of mine and also to those who took the time to review. I appreciate the feedback and I enjoyed hearing from each and every one of you~ :D