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claudia603Periantari requested anything Frodo, rated G or PG
(making this entry public since it's a fic)
Title: Little Fellow in a Big World
Fandom: LOTR/The Hobbit
Summary: Bilbo recalls finding a friend while on a quest with dwarves
Rating: G
The whistling of the kettle had always been like music to Bilbo since he returned from his adventures. He had never allowed himself to forget all the miserable nights when he dreamed about his kettle. He cherished twilight safe in his own hobbit hole, with his down bed only down the hallway and goblins but a myth and rumor.
“There is something magical, Elvish you might say, dear Frodo, about the cusp between day and night, when stars fill a violet sky.”
Young Frodo sat on his knee, only a lad of twelve, his blue eyes deep with sadness.
“Tell me more,” Frodo said.
Bilbo smoked his pipe, gazing out the window, remembering another twilight a year earlier, when he and the dwarves had not yet reached Rivendell. They had camped in a clearing on a lovely May evening. They had not yet faced trolls, goblins or giant spiders, nor had they gotten too close to the gold, and so the dwarves were mostly merry. Bilbo sat alone, shivering in Dwalin’s oversized cloak. At that time, camping was his worst hardship.
“On evenings like this,” Balin said, sitting beside him. “I’m always glad not to be under a mountain mining for jewels.”
“Or in a dragon’s den,” Bilbo said, overjoyed that anyone was being friendly to him. Most of the dwarves kept their distance from their smaller, furry-footed companion.
Balin laughed so loudly that Thorin glared at them both from under bushy eyebrows.
“True and fair,” Balin said. “But we’ve many leagues to go before we have to worry about that. And many more perils.”
“I don’t much like to think about perils,” Bilbo said. “Right now I’d give just about anything for my feather pillow and a hot cup of tea.”
“I can’t say I understand why Gandalf chose you to come on this adventure,” Balin said, “but I think there’s more to you that meets the eye, Mr. Baggins. I saw a gleam in your eyes that night in your kitchen when we started our song about faraway lands and dragons and treasure. Something awakened in you that night.”
“No, no,” Bilbo said with a firm shake of his head, “You must have been quite mistaken. I don’t quite know why I came, but it isn’t for treasure. I’m quite sure of it.”
“Treasure, my friend,” Balin said, “is not just gold and jewels.”
Balin’s words rang in Bilbo’s ears all that night and in many nights to come.
He remembered this as he looked into his dear cousin’s eyes, now bright with curiosity.
Bilbo still could not put into words why he had run down that road after the dwarves without his handkerchief or his cloak. He still could not explain the fire that had awakened in his breast at the thought of majestic peaks iced with snow, forests, deep and unexplored, lands where Elves sang in the twilight, cities built of towering stone, lands where sun blazed on hot sand. He loved Bag End, but it had become small as of late. The idea of his feet taking him just down the road and into adventures beyond his dreams that once awakened could never again be squelched.
On the other side of the Brandywine River, so far the land looked very much like the Shire but with a bit more wild and wooded areas. People were still friendly, and farmers waved at them as they passed and then stared after them for many more moments.
Part of it, Bilbo cringed to himself, was all the dwarfish racket caused by the clatter-thud-clank of dwarfish luggage on ponies. Good gracious, Bilbo thought, no wonder he hadn’t seen a deer or fox in quite some time.
“No doubt they wonder what a troop of dwarves, a man, and a hobbit are doing abroad,” Balin laughed. “I can’t begin to imagine what is going on in their heads.”
“So they’d not mistake me for a dwarf?” Bilbo asked.
“Never, little fellow. No more than I’d be mistaken for a hobbit.”
After a few days, Bilbo began to relax. This adventure was fun, not at all dangerous, and he rather came to celebrate moving forward on the pony, the fresh air on his cheeks. His face turned brown after so many days in the sun. There was nothing too bad about any of this at all, come to think of it, except that most of the dwarves, save Balin, ignored him. Still, Bilbo enjoyed hearing their tales of faraway lands, hearing their songs. Once Bilbo tried to share a song from the Shire, but only Bofur and Balin listened and applauded.
The troll attack had left them all shaken and feeling perhaps a little foolish. Especially Bilbo. He was supposed to be a stealthy burglar, but instead on his first true mission, he had almost gotten them all eaten. Without Gandalf, the situation would have been grim indeed.
Bilbo sank into shamed silence, and nobody spoke. The rain poured down, soaking him to the bone. No fires took, and Bilbo had never been so miserable in his life.
A tea kettle and bacon and eggs and pound cake, still warm from the oven, with butter on it.
He could not sleep so he thought about all the food he loved and was missing. Their meal of stew and stale bread left his stomach gurgling. He could almost smell the sizzling bacon in his dreams.
The next morning the rain had stopped, but the sun was still hidden under thick clouds and a freezing drizzle stung their faces. May and nearly June? It felt more like December at the moment. Now Bilbo did not like adventures quite so much. He had found peril and excitement, and none of it was to his liking.
He rode just behind Balin. The dwarf was silent, too. Nobody was in the mood for song or chatter. Bilbo longed to ask him questions about where he had come from and what sorts of adventures he had experienced, but he did not want to break the sober silence. He felt the disapproval from the other dwarves as thick as the fog that hung in the air.
Balin sneezed a few times and seemed to be blowing his nose a lot.
When they stopped for a snack mid morning, Balin refused.
“With a stuffed nose, nothing tastes good anyway, might as well not waste the food.”
“If only someone could start a fire,” Bilbo said. “What you need is some hot tea.”
“You are kind, but do not fret about me,” Balin said. “It is not unusual to fall ill during a journey such as ours.”
“Let him be,” Thorin snapped. “He needs rest, not to listen to inane chatter.”
“At least take my cloak,” Bilbo said. He ignored Thorin. Balin had been the only one to be kind to him, to not ignore him, and he was not about to let him suffer needlessly in this miserable weather.
“No, Mr. Baggins, please no.”
Bilbo unhooked Dwalin’s cloak from his throat and took it off. Balin sighed when Bilbo put the cloak over him. “There now. Your task now is to get better by morning. I will let you sleep.”
“Thank you, Bilbo.”
“You said I would find treasure on my journey and that it may not be gold, and I say you were right. There is no better treasure than a friend.”
Outside of Bag End, crickets had begun to chirp, and full darkness had cloaked the land. Silver stars filled a black sky.
“And what happened after that?” Frodo asked.
“Not a thing,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of tea. “Not until the goblins ambushed us at least, but that’s not a tale for tonight. It’s bed for you, lad.”
“Aw,” Frodo said, climbing off Bilbo. He yawned.
“Yes, to bed,” Bilbo said. “A warm, feather bed and when you wake up, there will be sizzling bacon and eggs.”
“I’ll try to imagine what it would be like to not have those things when I have them tomorrow,” Frodo said. “For one day I should very much like to have my own adventure.”
“You’re a respectable Baggins,” Bilbo said, chuckling. “So no doubt you will, no doubt you will.”
END
(making this entry public since it's a fic)
Title: Little Fellow in a Big World
Fandom: LOTR/The Hobbit
Summary: Bilbo recalls finding a friend while on a quest with dwarves
Rating: G
The whistling of the kettle had always been like music to Bilbo since he returned from his adventures. He had never allowed himself to forget all the miserable nights when he dreamed about his kettle. He cherished twilight safe in his own hobbit hole, with his down bed only down the hallway and goblins but a myth and rumor.
“There is something magical, Elvish you might say, dear Frodo, about the cusp between day and night, when stars fill a violet sky.”
Young Frodo sat on his knee, only a lad of twelve, his blue eyes deep with sadness.
“Tell me more,” Frodo said.
Bilbo smoked his pipe, gazing out the window, remembering another twilight a year earlier, when he and the dwarves had not yet reached Rivendell. They had camped in a clearing on a lovely May evening. They had not yet faced trolls, goblins or giant spiders, nor had they gotten too close to the gold, and so the dwarves were mostly merry. Bilbo sat alone, shivering in Dwalin’s oversized cloak. At that time, camping was his worst hardship.
“On evenings like this,” Balin said, sitting beside him. “I’m always glad not to be under a mountain mining for jewels.”
“Or in a dragon’s den,” Bilbo said, overjoyed that anyone was being friendly to him. Most of the dwarves kept their distance from their smaller, furry-footed companion.
Balin laughed so loudly that Thorin glared at them both from under bushy eyebrows.
“True and fair,” Balin said. “But we’ve many leagues to go before we have to worry about that. And many more perils.”
“I don’t much like to think about perils,” Bilbo said. “Right now I’d give just about anything for my feather pillow and a hot cup of tea.”
“I can’t say I understand why Gandalf chose you to come on this adventure,” Balin said, “but I think there’s more to you that meets the eye, Mr. Baggins. I saw a gleam in your eyes that night in your kitchen when we started our song about faraway lands and dragons and treasure. Something awakened in you that night.”
“No, no,” Bilbo said with a firm shake of his head, “You must have been quite mistaken. I don’t quite know why I came, but it isn’t for treasure. I’m quite sure of it.”
“Treasure, my friend,” Balin said, “is not just gold and jewels.”
Balin’s words rang in Bilbo’s ears all that night and in many nights to come.
He remembered this as he looked into his dear cousin’s eyes, now bright with curiosity.
Bilbo still could not put into words why he had run down that road after the dwarves without his handkerchief or his cloak. He still could not explain the fire that had awakened in his breast at the thought of majestic peaks iced with snow, forests, deep and unexplored, lands where Elves sang in the twilight, cities built of towering stone, lands where sun blazed on hot sand. He loved Bag End, but it had become small as of late. The idea of his feet taking him just down the road and into adventures beyond his dreams that once awakened could never again be squelched.
On the other side of the Brandywine River, so far the land looked very much like the Shire but with a bit more wild and wooded areas. People were still friendly, and farmers waved at them as they passed and then stared after them for many more moments.
Part of it, Bilbo cringed to himself, was all the dwarfish racket caused by the clatter-thud-clank of dwarfish luggage on ponies. Good gracious, Bilbo thought, no wonder he hadn’t seen a deer or fox in quite some time.
“No doubt they wonder what a troop of dwarves, a man, and a hobbit are doing abroad,” Balin laughed. “I can’t begin to imagine what is going on in their heads.”
“So they’d not mistake me for a dwarf?” Bilbo asked.
“Never, little fellow. No more than I’d be mistaken for a hobbit.”
After a few days, Bilbo began to relax. This adventure was fun, not at all dangerous, and he rather came to celebrate moving forward on the pony, the fresh air on his cheeks. His face turned brown after so many days in the sun. There was nothing too bad about any of this at all, come to think of it, except that most of the dwarves, save Balin, ignored him. Still, Bilbo enjoyed hearing their tales of faraway lands, hearing their songs. Once Bilbo tried to share a song from the Shire, but only Bofur and Balin listened and applauded.
The troll attack had left them all shaken and feeling perhaps a little foolish. Especially Bilbo. He was supposed to be a stealthy burglar, but instead on his first true mission, he had almost gotten them all eaten. Without Gandalf, the situation would have been grim indeed.
Bilbo sank into shamed silence, and nobody spoke. The rain poured down, soaking him to the bone. No fires took, and Bilbo had never been so miserable in his life.
A tea kettle and bacon and eggs and pound cake, still warm from the oven, with butter on it.
He could not sleep so he thought about all the food he loved and was missing. Their meal of stew and stale bread left his stomach gurgling. He could almost smell the sizzling bacon in his dreams.
The next morning the rain had stopped, but the sun was still hidden under thick clouds and a freezing drizzle stung their faces. May and nearly June? It felt more like December at the moment. Now Bilbo did not like adventures quite so much. He had found peril and excitement, and none of it was to his liking.
He rode just behind Balin. The dwarf was silent, too. Nobody was in the mood for song or chatter. Bilbo longed to ask him questions about where he had come from and what sorts of adventures he had experienced, but he did not want to break the sober silence. He felt the disapproval from the other dwarves as thick as the fog that hung in the air.
Balin sneezed a few times and seemed to be blowing his nose a lot.
When they stopped for a snack mid morning, Balin refused.
“With a stuffed nose, nothing tastes good anyway, might as well not waste the food.”
“If only someone could start a fire,” Bilbo said. “What you need is some hot tea.”
“You are kind, but do not fret about me,” Balin said. “It is not unusual to fall ill during a journey such as ours.”
“Let him be,” Thorin snapped. “He needs rest, not to listen to inane chatter.”
“At least take my cloak,” Bilbo said. He ignored Thorin. Balin had been the only one to be kind to him, to not ignore him, and he was not about to let him suffer needlessly in this miserable weather.
“No, Mr. Baggins, please no.”
Bilbo unhooked Dwalin’s cloak from his throat and took it off. Balin sighed when Bilbo put the cloak over him. “There now. Your task now is to get better by morning. I will let you sleep.”
“Thank you, Bilbo.”
“You said I would find treasure on my journey and that it may not be gold, and I say you were right. There is no better treasure than a friend.”
Outside of Bag End, crickets had begun to chirp, and full darkness had cloaked the land. Silver stars filled a black sky.
“And what happened after that?” Frodo asked.
“Not a thing,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of tea. “Not until the goblins ambushed us at least, but that’s not a tale for tonight. It’s bed for you, lad.”
“Aw,” Frodo said, climbing off Bilbo. He yawned.
“Yes, to bed,” Bilbo said. “A warm, feather bed and when you wake up, there will be sizzling bacon and eggs.”
“I’ll try to imagine what it would be like to not have those things when I have them tomorrow,” Frodo said. “For one day I should very much like to have my own adventure.”
“You’re a respectable Baggins,” Bilbo said, chuckling. “So no doubt you will, no doubt you will.”
END