9. A New Seed is Planted

December 25, 1391

He felt warm and relaxed, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. He drifted contentedly on a wave of drowsiness. He didn’t know where he was, or what time it was, or what he was supposed to be remembering, and it didn’t matter.

Unfortunately, some distant part of his sluggish mind eventually informed him that he was too warm, and he would have to move if he wanted to get comfortable again. Frodo tried to push the thought away and return to his previous lack of awareness, but it was no good. He was waking up.

Frodo suddenly began to suspect that if he moved any further toward consciousness, he wouldn’t like the result one bit. But now his eyes were fluttering open, and there was bright light in the room. Frodo squinted against the brightness. Sunlight. He had forgotten to close the drapes the night before, and the sun was shining directly upon his head through the little round window. It was extremely uncomfortable.

Irritably, Frodo tried to turn over to get out of that patch of sunlight, and he became aware of something even more uncomfortable. Frodo moaned involuntarily. He ached so badly he could barely move. Frodo lay still for another few minutes, until the sun on his face began to irritate him again, and then he rolled himself clumsily to the edge of the bed and sat up slowly.

Frodo realized with some surprise that it was late, but his mind felt too fuzzy round the edges to wonder why Bilbo hadn’t woken him. He got up and dressed himself in a painful daze, struggling with his braces for a moment before giving up in frustration. He dropped the offending objects on the bed and stumbled out into the hall. Maybe he would put them on later.

The fog that seemed to be before his eyes did not clear, but Frodo eventually found himself outside the kitchen. He could hear voices from within, and at length he realized they belonged to Bilbo and Sam. They were icing the baked Yule treats that Frodo had quite forgotten the day before. Frodo struggled to focus on what he was hearing, and finally realized that Bilbo was telling one of his best Elf stories.

Frodo stepped forward to stand in the doorway. Both hobbits seated at the table looked up, but their cheerful Yule greetings died on their lips when they saw the pale tween leaning against the doorjamb.

“Frodo-lad! I thought a bit of a lie-in would do you good, but you look dreadful!” exclaimed Bilbo. “Whatever is the matter?”

Frodo stared for a moment before he understood his uncle’s words. “N-nothing’s the matter, Uncle,” he stammered.

Samwise got to his feet and started to come forward, his brown eyes wide with concern. “Are them bruises still painin’ you, Mr. Frodo?” he asked anxiously, and then said “Oh!” for he realized he had just broken his promise.

Frodo had quite forgotten about the promise, but he stared at his friend in consternation, unable to explain why Sam had clapped one small hand over his mouth. Why was his mind so sluggish today? And why did Bilbo look so odd? The old hobbit’s face had gone quite pale, and Frodo could not interpret his expression. He felt sure that he would understand what was going on if only his ribs and stomach would stop aching so dreadfully.

Bilbo stood abruptly, motioned to Sam to stay put, and strode quickly past Frodo, snagging the puzzled boy’s hand and dragging him along on his way out.

“Uncle, what are you doing?” cried Frodo as he stumbled along after Bilbo, struggling to keep up with the old hobbit’s rapid pace.

Bilbo made no answer, but when they arrived in Frodo’s room, he sat his young cousin down on the edge of his bed and abruptly began undoing the buttons of Frodo’s shirt. Frodo was too shocked to resist, and quite suddenly his shirt was in Bilbo’s hands, and the old hobbit was staring at him with that same peculiar expression.

Well, not staring at him, exactly. Staring at his middle. Frodo looked down. Oh, yes, the bruises. How could I have forgotten a thing like that? Frodo wondered muzzily. They had changed from their original purple to a veritable rainbow of colours.

“Lotho did this, didn’t he,” Bilbo said tightly, and it was not a question. Frodo stared with wide blue eyes, and quite suddenly he was able to identify his uncle’s expression: It was pure, unbridled fury. Frodo nearly took a deep breath, but stopped himself automatically before he could hurt his ribs.

He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone so angry before, certainly not kindly old Bilbo. Tears filled Frodo’s eyes and he lost his tenuous grip on control. Bilbo was furious with him. Frodo looked down to hide his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Uncle,” he choked out. “I didn’t mean to be so troublesome.”

“Troublesome?!” Frodo heard the shocked exclamation through his tears. Bilbo lifted his face with gentle hands. “Whatever gave you such an idea, dear boy?” the old hobbit asked, sounding mystified now, more than furious.

Frodo was too distraught to answer immediately, and Bilbo quickly pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around his quivering shoulders. Then he sat down beside Frodo and pulled the unresisting child into his arms.

“Hush, now, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo murmured. “Whatever it is that weighs on your mind so, you must tell me.”

Frodo lifted his wet face from Bilbo’s shoulder and looked at his uncle hesitantly. “You- you’re not angry?” he asked in confusion.

“With you? Certainly not!” Bilbo exclaimed, but in a tone that suggested he was definitely angry with someone. “Now tell me what put such a ridiculous idea into your head!”

It took Frodo several seconds to absorb Bilbo’s words. He wasn’t angry. Frodo sniffled, reassured; it suddenly seemed like a wonderful idea to unburden himself. Bilbo would know what to do. Bilbo always knew what to do.

The whole story finally spilled out of Frodo. “Well Uncle, Mistress Lobelia said—she said—that you didn’t want me, and you’d regret adopting me and send me back to Brandy Hall first chance you got, as soon as you realized what a troublemaker I was. And I did try not to be a bother, but like Aunt Pyrimidine says, trouble just seems to follow me.”

Bilbo stiffened slightly, and his face went an alarming shade of red. After a long moment the old hobbit seemed to get control of himself, and then he began stroking Frodo’s curls gently.

“I truly did try not to cause you any trouble, but then I made Lotho angry and he beat me and—oh, I couldn’t bear it if you’d thought I’d been fighting and sent me back!” Frodo couldn’t believe he was saying these things, but Bilbo continued to hold him, rocking him gently and now drying his tears with a handkerchief, and the words just seemed to rush out all by themselves. And it did feel so nice to be held like this.

Frodo’s sobs had finally subsided when Bilbo cleared his throat and looked down to meet his cousin’s eyes. “First of all, my dear boy, you are not a troublemaker.”

Frodo laid his head on Bilbo’s shoulder again. “They all said I was back in Buckland,” he mumbled.

“You are not a troublemaker,” Bilbo repeated more firmly. “You have had a difficult and tragic childhood, and yet you are a good, kind-hearted lad who knows how to treat others well and does not tolerate injustice.”

Frodo flushed slightly. But Bilbo wasn’t finished yet.

“Yes, I know why Lotho was angry with you. The Gaffer told me all about your coming to the aid of little Samwise.” Bilbo closed his eyes and rested his chin on the top of Frodo’s curly head. “I am so proud of you, my dear boy, and I wouldn’t change you for all the riches in Middle Earth.”

Frodo swallowed, and felt more tears rolling down his cheeks. He buried his face against Bilbo’s chest and put his arms around his beloved uncle.

“And I certainly was not angry with you, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo continued. “But regardless, there is nothing—do you hear me?—nothing that could make me regret adopting you.”

Lifting his head slowly, Frodo peered up at Bilbo and saw such sympathy, love, and compassion in his uncle’s face that he could hardly bear to look.

“It is terribly important that you understand, my boy,” Bilbo said. “There is nothing that you could possibly do to make me want to send you back if you didn’t want to go. Not even if you broke every dish in Bag End.”

A laugh escaped Frodo at this thought.

“I am delighted beyond description to have you living here with me, lad. But there is another thing that I fear you do not yet understand,” said Bilbo slowly. “When I adopted you, I became your—well—your guardian, I daresay. When something upsets you, you mustn’t try to keep it from me, dear boy. I know you grew accustomed to keeping your own counsel at Brandy Hall, but now you have me, and it is my responsibility—and privilege—to take care of you and worry about you. Will you try to remember that, lad?”

“I will try, Uncle,” Frodo whispered. He paused, and then continued shyly: “It would help if you reminded me often, though.”

Bilbo smiled. “That I can certainly do, my dear boy. After all, we must both do our best if we are to convince the neighbours that an old bachelor like me is fit to raise a hobbit lad.”

Frodo smiled back, and it was the slow, sweet smile whose absence Bilbo had regretted this past week.

“I suppose I ought to tell you about the Sackville-Bagginses, Frodo,” Bilbo said eventually.

“I wish you would, Uncle,” Frodo replied, looking up. “Why were they so cross with me? And what was Lotho going on about?”

Bilbo sighed and explained briefly about inheritance and greed as well as he could to an innocent twenty-three-year-old child.

“So—so I’m going to inherit your money then, Uncle Bilbo?” asked Frodo, looking puzzled.

“Well, yes, lad,” Bilbo said, surprised. “I didn’t realize no one had told you that.”

“But I don’t care if I’m rich, Uncle, as long as I get to live with you!” protested Frodo. “Why couldn’t Master Otho inherit your money anyway?”

Bilbo looked at his heir in astonishment. “Well...” he said slowly, completely at a loss as to how to proceed. “Look at it another way: I want you to have my things, Frodo-lad, and not Otho. I couldn’t bear to think of those dreadful people in possession of Bag End.”

“Oh,” Frodo said thoughtfully. “I think I understand.”

“I truly never thought Lobelia would be so odious,” said Bilbo. “I dearly regret not protecting you from her better.”

Frodo hugged Bilbo again. “I’m sorry, too, Uncle. I should have told you before.”

“Why don’t you lie down, Frodo-lad?” Bilbo said at length. “You look exhausted, and I’m sure you’ll feel better after we ice those bruises.”

Frodo paused to consider the suggestion, and then nodded. He was tired, after hardly sleeping last night. And if he was lying down, he wouldn’t have to move his aching body anymore. Frodo allowed Bilbo to pull a clean nightshirt over his head. He manoeuvred out of his trousers while Bilbo turned down the sheets, and then crawled gratefully into bed.

“I’ll be back with the ice, dear boy,” said Bilbo softly.

Frodo struggled to keep his eyes open for the next few minutes. He was losing the battle when Bilbo reappeared in the doorway, bearing a small bag of ice wrapped in a cloth.

“Look what I found in the kitchen!” Bilbo said cheerfully, his brown eyes twinkling. He stepped forward to reveal Sam standing behind him. “Samwise has generously agreed to keep you company for a bit, Frodo-lad, while I make a start on our Yule supper,” said Bilbo.

Sam stepped inside hesitantly as Bilbo arranged the ice carefully on Frodo’s abdomen. The old hobbit’s expression darkened briefly when he caught sight of the bruises again, but he shook it off and motioned Sam forward. “I’ll be in the kitchen, lads, but I’ll come back and check on you before luncheon.”

Frodo nodded and turned his attention to the eleven-year-old hobbit standing awkwardly beside the bed.

“I-I’m right sorry I broke my promise, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said finally. He took a deep breath and plunged on. “But I ain’t sorry that Master Bilbo found out.” Sam looked up, his gaze half-defiant, half-hopeful.

Frodo sighed, forgetting his exhaustion for the moment. “Please, Sam, I’m the one who ought to apologize. It wasn’t fair at all to ask that promise of you in the first place.”

Sam smiled in relief. “I’m right glad you’re not angry, sir,” the younger child said. “I was real worried ‘bout you.”

Frodo looked at Sam for a moment, wondering what he had done to deserve such a friend. “Come and sit with me on the bed, Sam,” Frodo invited finally.

“I can’t do that, sir!” squawked a scandalized Sam. “Sit on your bed?”

“Why not, Sam?” asked Frodo with a slight smile. “I seem to recall you thinking it was all right for you to sit under my bed, that day I first moved in.”

Samwise laughed despite himself. “You’ve got me there, sir.” The younger lad clambered up shyly beside Frodo, and met his eyes earnestly. “But if you decide later on that it’s oversteppin’ my bounds, Mr. Frodo, you must tell me right away!”

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Frodo said, smiling tiredly at the little boy’s reticence. “Now sit back against the headboard here, Master Samwise. You’re making me nervous!”

“All right, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said agreeably, and scooted back away from the foot of the bed. When he was leaning comfortably against the headboard, Sam looked down at Frodo stretched out beside him. “How do you feel, sir?” he asked softly.

Frodo shifted his gaze to look up at Sam. “Better than before, in more ways than one.” He shifted the bag of ice on his stomach up to rest on his ribcage. “Do you want me to tell you a story, Sam?”

Sam hesitated, looking at Frodo. “How ‘bout later, Mr. Frodo? Why don’t you just lie quiet for a bit.”

“All right,” Frodo said sleepily. He was dreadfully tired.

Sam slid down so that he was curled up beside Frodo. “Close your eyes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured, and smiled when he saw Frodo comply. “Think o’ the nice Yule supper your uncle is getting ready for you, sir. When you wake up, you’ll smell it cooking, I expect.”

Sam kept his gentle brown eyes focused on Frodo’s pale face until long after the tweenager’s breathing had evened out in sleep. Eventually, Sam noticed that Frodo’s packet of ice had slid off his chest. Sam picked it up silently and laid it on the nightstand. He didn’t want Frodo to catch a chill, and anyway the ice was nearly all melted. Sam laid back down beside the older lad and closed his eyes. Soon after, he joined Frodo in sleep.

Some time later, Frodo found that Sam was gone and Bilbo was sitting in a chair near the bed, smiling at him.

“Did you have a good sleep, Frodo-lad?” Bilbo asked.

“Oh—yes!” replied Frodo, stretching tentatively. He felt quite refreshed, as though a weight he’d grown used to bearing had suddenly been lifted. And his bruises seemed to ache a little less after being iced, just as Bilbo had promised. “Is it time for luncheon?”

Bilbo’s smile broadened. “I’m afraid you slept clean through luncheon, dear boy. Not to mention afternoon tea. I sent Samwise home for his supper almost an hour ago.”

Frodo stared at his uncle, amazed. “It’s time for supper?” he said dumbly.

Bilbo laughed out loud at the expression on his nephew’s face. “Best thing for you, lad, sleeping all day! But now that you’re awake, you must be hungry.”

“Starving,” agreed Frodo. He had always been a little on the thin side, but there had never been much wrong with his appetite.

Bilbo ruffled Frodo’s dark curls and stood up. “Why don’t I bring our plates in here? You’ll be more comfortable, I think.”

Frodo nodded gratefully. He didn’t fancy another painful walk out to the kitchen.

Bilbo went out and returned quickly with two plates laden with good food. There was turkey and ham, sweet potato, beans, applesauce, and a rich brown gravy. The first supper of Yule was typically an intimate meal, just for family to share, and the fare was not fancy. Frodo thought he had never tasted more delicious food.

When they had finished ‘filling in the corners,’ Bilbo took away their plates and brought back more ice for Frodo’s bruises.

“Just once more before you go back to sleep, lad,” he explained.

“Sleep?” said Frodo in surprise. “I’m not tired! I just slept all day!”

Bilbo laughed. “All right, lad. Shall I read to you?” Frodo nodded eagerly.

A little later, when Frodo yawned despite himself, Bilbo looked at him sadly. “You’ve had a rough time of it these last few days, Frodo-lad, but I promise you’ll feel even better tomorrow.” Bilbo hesitated, and Frodo watched him curiously. “I might be gone when you awaken, depending how late you sleep, but I shan’t be long.”

“Where are you going, Uncle?” Frodo asked sleepily.

“I... have some matters to take care of. Nothing that you need concern yourself with, Frodo-lad.” Bilbo pulled the covers up to Frodo’s chin and turned down the lamp.

Frodo sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. Bilbo remained in his chair for a long moment, watching his young cousin.

“There is actually one thing that I do regret, involving your adoption, I mean,” Bilbo said softly.

“What’s that, Uncle?” Frodo asked sleepily.

“That I didn’t adopt you years ago.” Bilbo smoothed back an errant dark curl and placed a tender kiss on the lad’s forehead, then got up and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.