A Father's Day Mathom I

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Just another quiet morning in the Baggins smial ... or is it? Frodo is 9 (age 6 in Man years)

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

Drogo pretended to be asleep when he heard the round door to his and Primula's bedroom creak open. With his sharp hobbit hearing, he heard the faint pitter-patter of his son's bare feet crossing the wooden floorboards, followed by his wife's near-silent footfalls. Drogo shifted under the lightweight summer blanket and feigned a snore. He heard the clink of dishes as Primula set a tray laden with food on the night table and he prayed his stomach would not start rumbling at the smell of first breakfast.

Drogo heard his son's smaller feet pad around the room until the lad was standing beside the bed, near his head. He felt the mattress sink a bit as Frodo braced himself on his hands, stood on his tip-toes, and peered over the edge of the bed at his father. There was a small, but gentle poke to his belly, then the mattress rose to normal. Drogo continued to lightly snore.

"Daddy is still sleeping, Mama," Frodo whispered disappointedly.

Even with his eyes closed, Drogo could see his wife's slow, sweet smile and see her eyes sparkle with mischief ... just like their little son's often did.

Drogo felt the mattress sink even further and being very careful, he cracked open one eye to see one of Frodo's bare hobbit feet just inches from his nose as the lad struggled to climb up onto the bed. He smiled as his son grunted and pulled himself up on his tummy and finally onto the bed. Drogo almost gave himself away and nearly laughed when the lad's nightshirt rode up, revealing the small pair of linen smallclothes that were riding in the opposite direction. Two creamy white chubby cheeks were revealed that screamed to be pinched. Why, it didn't seem all that long ago he was tucking those cute little cheeks into nappies.

Primula came around the bed, into her husband's view. She gave him a knowing wink before fixing Frodo's smallclothes and nightshirt. Drogo was quick to close his eyes again once Frodo sat triumphantly upon his parents' bed. His face--which had yet to lose its baby fat--lit up in a wide smile at the accomplishment of his task.

Drogo feigned another, louder snore and pulled the blanket up to his nose to cover his smile.

Frodo was taken aback at the sudden movements. After his father appeared to have settled in his sleep once more, the child crawled closer to the head of the bed and let one small hand pat what he thought was one of his father's shoulders. "Daddy?"

There was no response.

"Daddy?" Frodo prodded him again and Drogo remained very, very still.

"Daaadddy?" Frodo's little boy voice sing-songed.

All of a sudden Frodo squealed as in one motion his father threw the blanket aside, sat up, and snatched him up, holding him high overhead.

"Who dares to disturb my sleep?" Drogo boomed in an loud, deep voice. He shook the hobbit child, peering up into the reddening little face. Frodo's dark chestnut curls hung down into his eyes and the boy pushed them away to no avail.

Frodo nodded his head and squirmed to get free. "Put me down, Daddy!"

Drogo frowned. "Do you know what happens to little hobbit lads who disturb my rest?" he boomed.

Frodo shook his head, giggling.

"First, I tickle them ... and then I EAT them!"

Frodo shrieked with laughter as his father wrested him to the mattress and blew on his tummy, whilst tickling his downy feet. "Stop it, Daddy! Stop! Don't eat me! Mama, help!" Frodo gasped in between peals of laughter.

Primula joined her husband on the bed. She found herself wishing her son would never grow up ... that he could stay young and innocent forever ... that she and Drogo would be able to cuddle him like this for the rest of their lives. It was a selfish wish, she knew, but time would not slow or be stopped and before they knew it, their little son would be all grown up with children of his own.

Drogo stopped his tickling long enough to look at the first hobbit who had stolen his heart. "Mmmm, this little hobbit tastes very good, my wife. You should try some. He is very sweet."

Frodo went very still as his mother bent and gave him a kiss atop his forehead.

"You're right, my husband. This little hobbit lad is sweet enough to eat." And Primula continued to smother her son with kisses while Drogo resumed his tickling and blowing raspberries on the round, little tummy. Their son was shaking in peals of delighted laughter, making his parent's hearts sing in unbounded joy.

"Stop it!" Frodo shouted gleefully. "You can't eat me, Daddy! I made you breakfast!"

Abruptly, Drogo and Primula stopped their teasing. "Breakfast you say, Frodo my lad?" Drogo asked.

Frodo sat up, his nightshirt and hair even more rumpled and out of order than when he had woken up that morning. "Yes, Daddy," he replied. "I helped Mama cook first breakfast for you today. Happy Father's Day!"

Soon, Frodo was ensconced in between his mother and father as the three sat on the double bed, sharing the overflowing breakfast tray.

It was easy for Drogo to see exactly which dishes Primula had let Frodo help her with. His scrambled eggs contained bits of eggshells in them and his toast was a tad bit on the burned side. He didn't mind though and couldn't begin to imagine how he and Primula would have fared had they not finally been blessed with their beloved son. Frodo brought such added joy to their lives and they loved him dearly. Although he and Primula had been very happily married for many years beforehand, Drogo could not imagine a life now without their beautiful son.

Drogo looked aside to watch his family. Primula was cutting up Frodo's morning sausage for him, while the boy drank his milk, holding his cup with two hands as young children often do. He chuckled at the milk mustache lining Frodo's upper lip and in a spur of the moment decision, hugged his only son close to him.

"Thank you, Frodo. That was very dear of you to make first breakfast for me on Father's Day. I enjoyed it very much ... and I do believe the scrambled eggs were my favorite."

Frodo's big blue eyes widened in awe. "Really?"

Drogo hugged his son closer. "Really," he affirmed, winking over the dark curls at his wife.

Frodo positively beamed. "Mama showed me break how to break open one egg and I opened the rest all by myself."

"You don't say?" Drogo eyed the small pile off eggshells sitting on the edge of his otherwise empty plate.

"... and I toasted the bread all by myself, although I did burn it slightly. And Mama let me ...."

Drogo sighed in happiness. This was what he and Primula had waited for so long for and he wouldn't have it any other way ... including the burnt toast and the eggshells.

~The End~ Happy Father's Day!