Setting: Hobbiton; 1423, by Shire-Reckoning. 

Arwen (4 years old) birth date, said to be October 24, 1419;

Elanor (2 years old) March 25 1421;

Frodo-lad (5 months) 1423

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything in this story, it all belongs to Tolkien, brilliant man.  Really, I mean, who else do you know who can create different languages, cultures and thousands of years of history with them?  The only thing I might possibly own is Arwen Baggins (no relation to me, lol).  I own the girl, but not the name- that’s straight from Tolkien.  Confusing, I know.  Enjoy.

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Title: His Little Evenstar

Chapter Four: Plans and Memories

            While Aunt Rosie was slowly going around the smial to tell everyone that Dinner was ready - slowly and quietly so as not to wake Elanor and Frodo-lad. Arwen made sure to dry her tears and by the time her daddy came into the kitchen, there wasn't a trace of them left. The little lass had gone to every means necessary make sure that her daddy would be pleased - but he wasn't. He tried to hide his suspicion at the contents of his mug, but the effort was in vain, and even Arwen noticed the crease in his brow as he sniffed the contents.

            "It's Kingsfoil tea, Daddy," Arwen supplied helpfully - though she wouldn't have done so had she known that she was confirming his fears. "It was my idea, and I made it!" she announced proudly. "It always makes you feel better."

            At those words, all three adults turned to Frodo, trying to hide the multitude of questions that immediately rose at those words. It was Gandalf who finally spoke their unanimous question: "Are you ill, Frodo? You don't look like it. Tired perhaps but not ill."

            Frodo shook his head. "No, I haven't been ill for a few months. Arwen, are you sure there's not something you want to tell me?"

            Arwen thought about it for a second. She hated it when Daddy switched his words around like that? Why couldn't he just say 'Do you want to tell me something?' Throwing in that negative connotation only served to further confuse her. What was even more maddening was the fact that he rarely realized what he was doing. Once she deciphered the question she answered: "Yes, I'm sure there's isn't anything right now."

            "Then why did you make the tea?" This time though it was Gandalf who spoke, more out of curiosity, than a desire to intimidate the poor girl. He also looked to Frodo wondering how the child had discovered the plant's healing properties. Frodo would never have shared his experience of the Morgul-blade wounding with such a young child. And surely the Gaffer and any healer would have dis-reputed its healing abilities, so why did the child seem to believe that it would help her father through his strange illnesses? But Frodo didn't see Gandalf's questioning look. He was in the middle of giving one to Rosie, as if to ask why Arwen had been permitted to handle a hot teakettle in the first place.

            All of this Arwen didn't know. All she did know, was that the adults were engaged in what she called their "silent conversations." None of them ever said anything, but there were various emotions in their faces, and each face eventually found its questioning gaze focused on her once again. "I thought he liked it!" she spoke hesitantly, uncomfortable about having four sets of adult eyes on her at one time, and found it MOST uncomfortable that one of these belonged to a wizard. And at that moment, watching his seemingly magical eyes bore into hers, she was indeed inclined to believe her father on this matter, as opposed to the many gossipers of Hobbiton who claimed he was a cracked old Man who collect fancy fireworks for a living.

            Frodo didn't miss his daughter's quivering lips as Gandalf met her eyes in a questioning stare that she couldn't possibly comprehend. Gandalf knew more about Hobbits than other outsiders, but he didn't quite have the young children figured out. Tweenagers he did okay with, but little children were often frightened of him, just by who he was, regardless of whether or not he intended to make such an impression on them. Such was now the case with his young daughter, and he decided to straighten a few things out (something he'd been wanting to do for the entire day), while at the same time taking her away from Gandalf's potent curiosity. Left to itself, he might talk her senseless and he would probably take her nervousness as a sign of lying, something Arwen just DIDN'T do. "Arwen, may I speak with you for a moment please?"

            Arwen wasn't sure which she disliked more: Gandalf's innocent interrogation (which was referred to as such simply because she kept imagining what it would be like to turn into a toad, which she assumed would happen if he even suspected her of a half-lie); or the thought of a private conversation with her father, where he would no doubt attempt to discover her secret. She decided that she would rather become a toad or an insect, rather than to let her father in on he little secret, an she attempted to slide under the table, but her father caught her hand before she was half-way under. "Come on, Arwen, you've got some explaining to do." He turned to his extended-family (the Gamgees) and to Gandalf. "You needn't wait for us. We might be for a short-while." Thus, having no other option, Arwen allowed herself to be pulled down the various and familiar corridors of Bag-end, when suddenly she stooped dead with realization. She was going to the Study! Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Frodo reached into his pocket for the door- key and unlocked it.

            The Study was the only room in Bag-end which was locked, and Arwen knew why. It had been that way since her father was a lad. As soon as Bilbo began having his younger cousins as visitors, he had locked the Study where he had kept several valuable and rather dangerous items (the Ring, Sting, his book an d mithril- shirt among other things). She had heard, though no proof had been given, that this was the Spanking room. As it was the only locked door, it was also the only room which a child could not escape from by yelling out: "What that?!" There were no hiding places and no way to escape. This last thought entered Arwen's mind as she saw Frodo place the iron key on a small bookshelf that was well out of her reach.

            Once the door was shut behind them, Arwen found herself steeping on her feet, in a vain attempt to hide their vigorous shaking. So nervous she was that Arwen didn't even notice Frodo kneel down in front of her and wipe away the tears: tears she herself had been virtually unaware of in her panic.

            "Arwen," he began gently, "I know there's something you need to tell me. Whether or not you want to isn't the issue. There's something bothering you and I need to know about it."

            "Why, why do I have to tell you everything?" Now the fears were gone and in their place was a growing hostility - stemmed more or less from a last-ditch attempt to conceal her secret. If she could just get her father to believe that it somehow wasn't his business, then perhaps he would he would back-off and let her prove herself. These had been her original thoughts, but even as she spoke them, she knew that they were a wasted effort."

            "I don't demand to know everything," Frodo countered, with a hint of anger. "I don't demand to know every word that you speak to Amythest and Aemilia! But if you keep up this attitude I just might start doing that!"

            Arwen was unable to hide a grimace at the thought of her father peering over her shoulder, listening to every word she said as she tried to carry on a conversation while her two best friends were there. That just wouldn't work!

            "But if you would truly like to know, I will tell you," Frodo continued, either missing or choosing to ignore his daughter's headache that seemed to have developed conveniently after his last suggestion. "Arwen, do you remember last October when you were visiting Brandy Hall and heard some of the lasses saying that you were adopted after the Troubles?" Arwen nodded, trying to figure out where this fit into the discussion. "That day, the day I found you in that burned out smial, I sought out your father and found him." Here Frodo paused, unsure of whether or not he should tell a story for one so young. Then he remembered her challenging his authority as her father and decided that she had asked for it. "I found him dying," Frodo continued, his voice shaking a he fought to keep at bay the emotions that the memories brought with them, "and I had you in my arms. He looked up at you, and when I asked if I could do something for him he said this: 'Take care of her, sir. I don't know you're name, but I trust you're a gentlehobbit and that you'll take care of her as you would your own. Please?' I assured him that I would and ever since then I have tried to live up to my promise. But I can't do that, I can't 'care for you as one of my own' if I don't know what's bothering you. Do we understand?"

            This passionate speech of memory and loyalty had been spoken, among other reasons, to soften her heart and to wash away any doubt from her mind regarding her father and any conflict that might be between them. However, Frodo didn't know the gulf that separated them, and instead of bridging the gap between them it had only caused that gulf to widen immeasurably.

            "Really?" Arwen's tone was one of disbelief, mixed with what she hoped was concealed anger. This was the last straw! Now he was breaking his promise to her, but to her father as well! How dare he!? The statement of defiance and anger, however, could better be viewed as a question, for Arwen couldn't begin to comprehend how he could break such a binding promise with such a strong sense of serenity. He must have spent far too much time among the Elves!                     "Yes," Frodo answered. If he saw his daughter's concealed anger, then he must have misinterpreted it, for he gave no sign of it. "I really did. And I intend to keep my promise - and I need your help to do it!"

            "But if you want to keep your promise then why are you leaving?" Those words were shouted at a volume that Arwen hadn't even known she was capable of attaining, and the words had been shouted on such an impulse that she hadn't even become aware of them until they had been spoken. I hope no one in the kitchen heard that she thought as her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes simultaneously flew wide not in shock, but in fear. Father and daughter locked eyes in final comprehension - at least on Frodo's part.

            "So," he began after several moments of awkward silence, "how long have you known, and now did you find out?" Surprisingly, his voice contained more curiosity than reprimanding, a fact that helped to somewhat relieve Arwen's rattled nerves.

            "Not long," the little lass reluctantly admitted. "I heard you and Gandalf talking. You said you had to leave because you're always sick and that I'm too much trouble! So I tried to be really good and helpful. So I made Dinner, but I -"

            "You made Dinner!" Frodo interrupted, not sure whether he should feel more surprised or angry. "But I thought you helped Aunt Rosie make Dinner!"

            Arwen shook her head. "No, I made it. She came home in time to finish the soup and clean-up my big mess. I tried to be good! Honest I did! But I made more of a mess. And now you're going to leave and never come back!" Having exhausted herself in the telling of her short tale, the child fell weeping into her father's arms as the dam of tears broke suddenly, without any attempt made to put them back in place.

            Frodo held her close, hardly knowing what to say or think. Well, actually that wasn't strictly true. He knew at least one thing that needed to be said. "Arwen?" He tried to pull her back in order to look her in the eye, but she stubbornly refused to release his neck from her tight hold, so he just continued holding her close, which was all she seemed to want at the moment, other than a flat and truthful denial of her suspicions regarding his planned departure. That he couldn't give, no matter how much he wanted to, but an apology would not only be possible, but under the circumstances it was required. "I didn't mean what I said. I was - frustrated and exhausted. I never should have said what I did. I am very sorry that I did, and I am even more sorry that you had the misfortune of hearing it!"

            "Really, you mean you're not going to leave!" Her joy at Frodo's confession and apology were beyond words, that much was obvious and Frodo hated to destroy it, and reprimanded himself for not choosing his words more carefully.

            "You misunderstood me, Arwen," Frodo corrected softly. He looked at the floor as he felt his daughter push away from him. "I meant I shouldn't have said what I did about you being a problem. You're just an energetic child, and that's one of the things that I love about you. I wouldn't change you for all of the mithril in Middle-earth! You must believe me when I say this!"

            Arwen however, didn't hear this last part of her father's short speech. She was still trying to digest the first part. "So you're still leaving?" Please say 'no'! Please say 'no'!

            "Yes," her father answered softly and Arwen could feel her heart breaking all over again, especially when he couldn't summon the courage to face her with that word and confession. "But-" He was about to continue when he looked up and lifted his daughter's chin to face him. "But, I'm planning to delay my departure for as long as possible, maybe even for another year if I am able."

            "Another year!" Arwen practically shouted, not in anger but astonishment. She couldn't believe her ears, but then again she realized that she could, for they had never failed her before. "But I thought you were leaving soon!"

            "No, no, not soon. I just came to a decision a few weeks ago. It is also not a decision made in a rash moment. I have in fact been considering this ever since before I returned to the Shire. Up until a few weeks ago it was just suggestion in my mind that I didn't give much thought to, but now?" He smiled up at her, the first real smile she had seen on his face in a long time, and wondered what it meant. "But even now the decision isn't finalized. I have questions that need answering before I make a final decision."

            "What kind of questions?"

            "That isn't up for discussion, young lass! They are complex questions that would be beyond your comprehension, and I would prefer not to discuss them until I have the answers." That just about closed the discussion as far as Frodo was concerned, but Arwen wasn't quite ready to end it just yet.

            "Are they about your adventures?"

            Frodo's eyes seemed to lose their focus, as though his mind had taken him back to some far away place, and Arwen immediately knew the answer to her question. Nothing else, other then reminiscing of pain and torture could cause such a look to come across her father's visage so fast.

            "Daddy?"

            Frodo slowly came back to reality and found himself caressing his daughter's cheek, something that never ceased to make Arwen uncomfortable, since it was a gesture more common towards babies. "Daddy, why are you even considering leaving?" She had saved this question for last because she had been too scared to ask it earlier. Afraid that she knew the answer. But her fear was gone - and in its place was a longing to know the answer as well as to hear her guess out loud. All of the guessing in the world wouldn't reassure her like hearing a certain combination of words would.

            "I think I have told you enough for tonight, Arwen. The story of why I am leaving is too long and too dark to tell to one so young and innocent. But to make it short and understandable - I'm sick, a result of my adventures as you guessed earlier. On the Lonely Isle, where I will be going, they say there are special Elven healers who can heal what none here can, and their medications are made from herbs that do not grow in Middle- earth. And for some reason unknown to me, these healers are not permitted to come to me. I must go to them." He lifted his right hand and ran all four of his fingers through her hair affectionately as he spoke. This Arwen was accustomed to and didn't feel any urge to pull away from being babied. "But I will tell you this as well: I'm only staying another year for two reasons - and you're one of them!"

            At this confession, Arwen couldn't believe her ears. She felt as though she could shout for joy, and could've sworn that she actually had, and if so she wouldn't have noticed if the whole of Middle-earth heard. Arwen threw her arms around her father, laughing for joy as if all of her problems had been taken care of, but they hadn't. Daddy had said that the plan to leave hadn't been finalized, which meant that it also hadn't been discarded completely. Daddy had said that he was leaving because he was sick and that the Elves had special medicine for him. But Arwen knew better. The truth was obvious. Daddy was always getting sick because he was up late working on his book and getting memory nightmares. But if she could help him relax - so he wouldn't get sick -?

            Arwen paused as a fool-proof plan for tomorrow's party began to form in her head. Now having that familiar confidence that she had secured her father's future in the Shire, she took his hand and happily followed him back to the kitchen - only to find that everyone had obeyed her father and finished Dinner during their absence. Rosie had gone to nurse Frodo- lad, Sam was cleaning up the mess on the floor from when Elanor (who had awoken from her nap) had rejected the carrots and tossed them away from her High- chair, along with the better part of her soup. In the meantime, Gandalf was playing with the lass to keep her out of Sam's way. Frodo and Arwen had offered to help, but Sam had refused, saying that the job was almost done anyway, and that it t’weren’t proper to have his master clean up his daughter’s mess. Having heard Sam's final words regarding that issue, the father and daughter walked back to the kitchen to see what could be salvaged for Dinner.

            Frodo put it back in the pot to re-heat over the fireplace. He was bound and determined to taste his daughter's creation as it was meant to be - despite Arwen's assurances that it was cold and ‘mushy’ beyond repair. Frodo, however, proved to be correct and before long they were sitting down to a nice warm dinner, both were too exhausted to talk, and even if they had been wide-awake they still wouldn't have known what to say to each other with a potential audience around.

            When bedtime came, Arwen asked Gandalf to tell her a bedtime story. This in and of itself didn't surprised Frodo in the least. What did surprise him, however, was when he was passing by the door a quarter of an hour later and heard his lass distinctly ask: "Gandalf, what is mithril?"

            "Ah, mithril," the wizard's deep voice was heard musing through the door. "It is a metal, Arwen, and indeed it is a very rare metal. It is called true-silver or Moria-silver, for it is so rare that it only be found in the Mines of Moria." Here Frodo thought he heard Gandalf shudder in memory, but he quickly continued. "The rarity of it has rendered it far more valuable than either gold or jewels."

            "Really?"

            "Oh, yes. In fact Bilbo, who is in fact your father's cousin and not his uncle, was given a whole shirt made of mithril rings that was given to him by a Dwarf called Thorin Oakenshield from the Lonely Mountain.

            "You mean Uncle Bilbo was given some mithril?" The fascination in the girl's voice was evident and it occurred to Frodo that she didn't know what story was to come, for indeed she was too young to have heard all of the stories that were told around Bag-end.

            Frodo, on the other hand, knew the story well. Gandalf would be telling her the story of how: Uncle Bilbo had challenged the Dragon, Smaug, to a game of Riddles and how he had led the party of Dwarves to the pile of treasure that Smaug had abandoned to seek revenge on the people of Lake- town. Then again, Gandalf might omit that part, saying that Smaug had left for some unknown reason, as Bilbo had occasionally done. Frodo however, found his mind wandering from Smaug, to Bilbo, back to the mithril shirt, and from there to the times when it had saved his life on the Quest. Well that didn't help things very much. He got very little sleep and once he began aimlessly walking the corridors to clear his mind, and he realized that his half-asleep legs were guiding him to his daughter's room, more out of habit than anything. There he found her sleeping peacefully without a care in the world. And he vaguely wondered how he would finally break the news to her: he would either leave for the Blessed Realm, or simply die of torment.

            He didn't understand why the pain of the morgul-wound kept coming back, but it did. It grew worse each time, and he knew that it wouldn't be much longer before he could no longer handle the pain. He had to make her understand before that. Before he was forced to leave them, to spare them the pain of his slow and agonizing passing. It would be a hard parting even it was only temporarily, for he still held hope that he would be able to return once he was healed. But as reality set in he began to realize that it was unlikely, indeed highly improbable that such a liberty would be allowed (for such a thing had never happened before as far back as the Elves could reckon, which was saying a lot) but he could still cling to hope. And cling he would, as though his very life depended upon it. He had lived off it before; it had been his nourishment when both lembas and water had been spent. And if he had to live off it again, he would. So his thoughts continued in a constant whirl until he found himself lying on the couch and there he was found the next morning.

~To Be Continued~

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A/N: I know you were all expecting the Party chapter, but that's next I PROMISE. This chapter sort of wrote itself. I intended to put everyone to bed right after Dinner, but I got side-tracked. And I have images from chapters that take place in the "prequel" that I'm writing in my head right now. And I had a hard time steering the conversations around those so as not to confuse my poor audience. I won't make any promises of any kind this time, since you now know that my definition of soon is apparently two months. I hope you're enjoying my story, and please stay tuned for future chapters.