Work Text:
- Warnings: Is suitable for children, but deal with the issue of the death of Frodo's parents.
- Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are the work of the Masterful Tolkien. Tolkien's the man! This story, however, is all mine. I make no money off of this and probably should be working on something where I might actually make some money...but here ya' go.
- Feedback: That would be lovely. TheArtofDodger@msn.com
- Authors' Notes: I wrote two Frodo stories in one week. Why? I can't say. My Pippin-muse is so mad. I blame it all on Baylor and her Merry-lad scribblings. You can find that madness at Baylor's site "A Shortcut to Mushrooms". She made me want to write a Little Frodo story. All Baylor's fault. . Also, thanks to Baylor are in order for the beta and also for all the mad love that she gives me.
- Even If We Cannot See -
He was supposed to be camping. His da had it all planned out. Under the great oak at the top of the hill that overlooked all of Buckland, they were to spend the night looking up at the stars.
He had promised.
But that morning Frodo had awoke with a terrible cough. He felt like his chest was being torn in two. His mum had heard him and come rushing into the bedroom. Frodo was covered in sweat, yet he shivered when his mother touched his forehead with her cool fingertips.
There would be no camping that night.
Frodo had screamed, "It's not fair!! You promised!" over and over again, from the time the first rays of morning light had crept into his room until he heard the bustle of elvensies. At last, exhausted, he threw himself back onto his pillows with a loud thump and was lost to the world until the sun had retreated from his room.
His father had come in then, asking if Frodo wanted some tea and perhaps a story or two.
Frodo had crossed his arms on his chest and glared at his father. "You always say that us lads need to stick together. But when Mum said I couldn't go camping, you didn't even try to convince her otherwise."
"Frodo, there are some things you will learn, when you are married, that a husband does not fight with his wife about. One of those things is the health of her children. It's a maternal thing. You'll understand one day, lad."
Frodo scowled at his father. "I won't get married then. How would that suit you?" He crawled back under the covers muttering, "I think I'll go back to sleep now, if you would kindly leave my room."
*****
The next morning Frodo's fever was down. His chest still hurt but the coughing had subsided quite a bit. His mum let him come to the small family kitchen and have some potato soup and tea. Frodo scowled at his mother's back while she sliced up carrots at the counter. He felt this was not a suitable punishment for her making him miss out on camping, but scowling was the only thing he had the strength to do at the moment. Three times Primula had stopped slicing to feel of Frodo's forehead, until at last he had shouted, "Stop coddling me, Mother!"
Primula slammed both her hands on the table, palms down, and stared Frodo straight in the eyes. "Frodo Baggins, I don't care how sick you are, if you don't start showing your father and I some respect, I will give you a reason to scowl. You got sick. You had to miss out on camping. You'll go next week and it will not be the end of the world. Now be quiet and eat your soup. I'll get you some more tea."
Frodo, now completely shamed with his behavior, sat quietly and ate the rest of his soup.
Cousin Milo, came into the kitchen with a handkerchief tied tight around his hand.
"Primula, I need to get my hand cleaned up. It's bleeding right good," he said to Frodo's mother.
Primula rushed over to Milo and undid the handkerchief, inspecting the damaged hand. From where he sat at the long, low table, Frodo could see a large gash across the palm of his cousin's hand. The handkerchief was soaked through with blood.
"Goodness," Primula cried. "What happened?"
"That storm last night," Milo replied.
Frodo wasn't aware that there had been a storm in the night.
"Lightening hit the great oak at the top of the hill. Split the thing right in half."
Frodo gasped.
"Some of the boys and I have been clearing away the wood all morning. Must've ripped my hand open somehow," Milo went on. "Drogo says it's a good thing that he and young Frodo here weren't out camping last night after all. They would've been crushed beneath that tree. Would've killed Frodo for sure."
Frodo noticed how pale his mother had become as she sat Milo down at the table. "I'll just go get Peony to help clean you up," she said, referring to the healer-in-training.
"There's no need to bother Miss Peony over a little cut like this," Milo protested, but Primula paid him no mind and left to get Peony.
Frodo stared at his Cousin Milo in fascination, the gears in his head turning a mile a minute as he contemplated things far bigger than one wee hobbit lad of the Shire.
Peony came in and sat down at the table. Frodo took note of the way Cousin Milo blushed when Peony took his injured hand in her own and examined it up close.
His mother whisked him out of the room and back to bed. Once Frodo was snuggled comfortably under the covers, he turned his eyes to his mother's face and whispered, "I'm sorry, Mum. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you and Da."
"That's all right then, Frodo," Primula said, smiling down at her son. "Just remember, everything in this world happens for a reason, even if we cannot see what that reason is. Now, you try to get a bit more rest."
*****
Before the year was out, Milo and Peony were married. Frodo, sitting in between his parents during the ceremony, saw the way Peony ran her finger softly over the scar on Milo's palm as they exchanged rings and vows.
*****
The next year, Frodo's parents died. Frodo spent a week in bed, refusing to eat anything and crying so much that he caught the chill and the healer had to be sent for.
"Get food in his belly and get that boy out of bed, or he shall surely die where he lay," Frodo heard Peony say to Cousin Saradoc.
Saradoc saw to it that Frodo was cleaned up properly. Then he took Frodo to the top of the hill where the great oak had once stood. Now there was a new tree in it's place, a young sapling planted just days after the oak had come down. Saradoc had brought a picnic and continued to hand Frodo food, though the lad only nibbled at everything he was handed.
They sat in silence, looking out over all of Buckland.
"Do you know why I brought you here, Frodo?" Saradoc asked him at last.
"I do," Frodo whispered. "I do."
THE END