They Grow Up So Fast

By: Elemmírë
Summary: Time spent with the ones we love is a precious thing ...Written for Marigold’s Tale Challenge 28. The Challenge was to write a story that includes one or more naked hobbits, and these two elements: A toy boat and a campfire.

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: Frodo is 3, 8, & 32 (ages 18-20 months, 5, & 20 ½ in Man years)

"Frodo Baggins!" Primula called out sternly. "You come back here right this instant young hobbit!" She sighed as the dripping wet, naked faunt ran throughout the smial, escaping her and the fluffy towel she held at every chance. It seemed that once Frodo had learned to walk he just ran nonstop instead of toddling about as most faunts did. Some days it was all she could do to keep up with her lively and spirited little Baggins.

"Frodo!" She called out again in vain. Primula sighed, her frustration mounting with her son’s antics ... however, she wouldn't change this for anything in the world--she had waited for so very long to become a mother. Determined, she set her sights on the chubby, creamy-white little cheeks bouncing freely for all Middle-earth to see.

Frodo's giggles turned into outright peals of laughter as he evaded his mother yet again after his evening bath. The little one scampered down the round tunnel, leaving a trail of puddles and wet footprints behind. He was happy to be free of his restricting clothes and didn’t relish being confined in them again anytime soon. He looked back to see if Mama was following him and when he turned around he suddenly found himself being swung up high into the air by a pair of strong, yet loving hands.

"Hmm," a deep voice boomed. "What have I caught here?"

Frodo shrieked at being captured. Mama would surely be able to catch him now! He looked over his shoulder, wiggling when he saw his mother advancing down the hallway with the towel, a grin on her dimpled face that shone in triumph at last.

"Whatever I have caught is wet ... and soft ... and smells of lavender bubble bath," the voice boomed again. "I like lavender bubble bath!"

Frodo squealed as the great big hands cradled him and raspberry kisses were blown on his rounded, bare tummy. With his tiny hands, he batted away the offending lips that were tickling him. One of the big hands holding him gently smoothed back the thick wet strands of curls dangling in his eyes. Frodo looked up at face above him with wide eyes.

"Why, it seems I have caught ........ a Frodo!" Drogo Baggins exclaimed, smiling grandly.

"Oh good! I have always wanted my very own Frodo!" He cuddled the naked wet hobbitling to him and hugged tight, as if he were never to let go.

The faunt laughed again and beamed with delight at his father's silliness. "Da got Fro!" he crowed before squirming when he saw his mother come closer. "Uh-oh," he said unhappily, surrendering to the fact that he must be dried off and put into his nightshirt.

Primula handed the fluffy white towel to her husband and happily watched father and son, reveling in the sense of family that only a few years ago both parents thought they would never experience. Without a doubt, Drogo was the perfect husband and father. She remembered the day she had told him she was finally with child. Drogo had cried tears of overwhelming joy and he made every effort possible to be the best father for Frodo. Drogo had stood at her side as they both had learned the basics of caring for a newborn from Prim's oldest sister-in-law, Menegilda, who had come to stay with them for the first three weeks of Frodo's life. Drogo had learned how to bathe his infant son properly and burp him after Primula had fed him with her milk. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty as some gentlehobbits did, and he performed his share of changing soiled nappies without complaint, gaining a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from the act. He'd also given up many a night's sleep, taking his turn walking about their smial, holding Frodo close and soothing him as the babe wailed and fussed from a bout of colic, or coughed incessantly with croup.

Before they knew it, Frodo was learning how to sit, then crawl, stand, and finally walk. How the time has passed, Primula thought as she watched Drogo dry their son off with care and wrap him up snugly in the large towel.

After giving his only son a kiss atop his baby-soft dark curls, Drogo handed Frodo over to his wife. "I believe you this little rascal of a hobbit belongs to you, milady," he said.

With a warm smile, Primula accepted the towel-wrapped bundle and cradled the young hobbit child to her breast, inhaling the fresh clean scent only little ones possess.

"Mama!" Frodo shouted with glee, his naked jaunt through the smial already forgotten. He managed to get free of his swaddling and hugged his mother as much as his little arms would fit around her.

Primula bounced Frodo on her hip. She didn't ever want to envision the day when she would no longer be able to hold her son like so, but she knew times like this were precious and to be cherished. They grow up so fast after all.

* * * * *

"Y-you made this for me?"

Drogo smiled warmly at his only son sitting on his lap. "That's right, Frodo. I made it special, just-for-you." He said with an emphasizing poke to the eight-year old's little tummy, hoping to elicit a giggle or two.

Instead, Frodo's round blue eyes widened in awe as he gaped at the new toy presented to him on the morning of his father's 68th birthday.

Drogo fondly remembered a recent visit to see Primula's large family at Brandy Hall across the Brandywine River in Buckland. The Brandybucks kept a large number of sailboats and rowboats moored by the short, wooden pier that was only a short walk from the bustling Hall. Frodo had simply been fascinated by the brightly painted boats and had wanted to know why there were no boats in Hob'ton, as he called the village where most of the Bagginses that were left lived. When the small family had returned home to Hobbiton, Frodo had spoken of nothing else for weeks but the boats and the boat rides his mother, uncles, and cousins had taken him on.

For his birthday, Drogo had decided to gift his son with a toy sailboat that he himself had painstakingly carved for the lad. The little boat was about a foot long and was made from cedar wood so it could float in the lad’s bath. It was painted a bright yellow and had a blue stripe running around the hull. There was a length of thick sailor’s rope tied and knotted through a hole in the point of the bow. At the other end of the rope was a red wooden anchor that fit just perfectly into the palm of Frodo’s little hand, so he could float the boat in The Water or Bywater Pool and not lose it. Primula had sewn little white linen sails that could be unfurled by rigging that Drogo had fashioned out of a strong twine. Drogo had also made a rectangular wooden platform with shiny green wheels and pegs that the little boat could sit in between, so Frodo could pull it about as he pleased.

"Goodness! Thank you, Da!" Frodo hugged the toy boat to his chest and beamed his sweet smile before sliding down off his father's lap to play.

With fatherly pride, Drogo sat back in his arm chair and smoked his pipe as he watched his son crouch down and set the sailboat with its platform on the floor, giving the pull-rope an experimental tug. He was pleased that Frodo was enthralled with what was his first experiment in toy making. He hoped that Frodo would find pleasure in it and spend many happy hours playing with it--he even dared to hope the sailboat might become the kind of toy that a child never forgets when he was older.

Later that day during his birthday party, Drogo realized that his younger brother Dudo was right--your children grow up so fast before your very eyes. It seemed like only yesterday he had held his tiny newborn son for the very first time and felt that swell of immeasurable and endless love as the babe's otherwise cross-eyed gaze focused briefly on his father's smiling face, as if to say hello. Now Frodo was running around without a care in the world, proudly showing all his aunts, uncles, and cousins the new sailboat that his father had made special for him, already proclaiming it to be his favorite toy.

Time most certainly showed no signs of slowing down (unless you were Cousin Bilbo) and Drogo knew that before long, his spirited little lad would be fully-grown and coming of age, then marrying and settling down with a family of his own.

"Don't grow up too fast for me, lad."

* * * * *

Bilbo Baggins poked at the dwindling campfire with a long stick, coaxing it back into life. The old hobbit stared into the flames, watching them flicker and the embers dance. For some odd reason, he could not find sleep tonight. Perhaps it was because he knew that this would be the very last time he ever took his lad on a hobbit walking party and camp out beneath the twinkling stars before he forever left the Shire next month.

Bilbo looked down at Frodo, who was lying next to him deeply asleep. For some unknown reason he suddenly thought of one of their shared birthday parties long ago, when Frodo's beloved parents had still been alive.

Ah, with a sudden clarity Bilbo knew why this particular memory sparked in his mind. As a special surprise birthday mathom to Frodo, Drogo and Bilbo had taken the excited lad on his very first overnight camping trip, while Primula had stayed behind at Bag End to help Bell Gamgee with some of the baking for the party. They had only traveled as far down as the Party Field, but Frodo had returned to the smial the morning of the shared birthday elated.

Bilbo smiled fondly as he recalled Frodo chattering non-stop to his mother and Mrs. Gamgee about how he slept outside underneath the pretty, twinkling stars and more importantly, how his father had taught him how to make a proper campfire. Uncle Bilbo had supplied the proper campfire tales, of course.

That had been Frodo's eleventh birthday and the last birthday of their son's that Drogo and Primula Baggins would ever celebrate.

Bilbo shook his head sadly, remembering his dear cousins that had died so needlessly and tragically, their only child left behind to mourn them as long as he lived. Not for the first time, he wondered how Frodo's life might have been had he not been orphaned at such a young age ... or had he himself not adopted the spirited young Baggins as his heir. Bilbo wondered how empty his own life would have continued to be.

As if sensing his uncle's unease, Frodo stirred in his sleep before turning to curl up onto his side, dislodging his blankets in the process. With a hand born of love, Bilbo smoothed the covers back over his lad, planted a kiss on the thick, chestnut curls and marveled at what a fine hobbit the lad had become. He's grown up so fast.

The End