For Eyes to See That Can
Author: Rowan
Summary: The Ring-bearer, as seen by his family and friends. Meant as a character study more than a story.
Rating: G
Note: As a reader, I prefer completed stories over works in progress. However, I'm now taking the risk of posting a WIP myself, justifying it because this is not really one continuing story but a series of short stand-alones grouped under one title. I hope to go through every major character who had some significant interaction with Frodo, but please forgive me in advance if I run out of ideas and just stop.
Disclaimer: No copyrights were harmed in the making of this fanfic.

Chapter 2: Bilbo Baggins, May 1389

"Is it true?" Frodo demanded, large blue eyes snapping sparks of suspicion and fury, fists clenching at his sides, as he confronted me in the largest parlor in Brandy Hall, where I sat with Master Rorimac discussing some final formalities.

I blinked. I had gotten to know my young cousin quite well in the nine years since the accident that had claimed his parents. But I had never seen him angry -- not at me, or at least, not openly. I supposed in a way it was a good sign, that Frodo felt he could allow negative emotion to show and not have to be on his best behavior all the time. Yet this was quite unexpected.

"Frodo," Rory rumbled warningly, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

Usually that tone was enough by itself to bring any fractious youngster to heel -- particularly Frodo, who was all too aware of his insecure status as a ward of the Hall, son of Rory's beloved sister or not. But this time Frodo didn't even seem to hear.

"Is it?" He advanced on me a step, and for a moment I was reminded of Gandalf in one of his tempers. I supposed I should thank my lucky stars that Frodo couldn't turn me into a toad.

Rory raised his voice. "Frodo, that's enough!" He reached up, grabbed the boy's shirtsleeve, and yanked him backward, away from me. Frodo looked startled; quite possibly he hadn't noticed there was anyone else in the room. "What do you mean, bursting in here and shouting at your cousin when he and I are in the middle of important business? You were raised better than that, not that anyone would know it, the way you behave sometimes!" He gave the sleeve a shake for emphasis. "Apologize, now."

Frodo was beet red by this time. He stared at the floor and mumbled something.

"Speak up." Rory shook him again.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said, a little louder.

"You ought to be. Now go to your room."

I spoke up. "Rory, a moment, please." Frodo had turned to go, but halted, his back stiff, as Rory looked at me. "We can finish our business later, if you don't mind. I'd like to know what's got the boy so upset."

After a long pause, Rory nodded. "Very well, Bilbo. You're the one wanting to take responsibility for him. I guess now's as good a time as any to find out exactly what you're getting into. Frankly, I wouldn't blame you one bit if you decided to back out after this little...display of his. I'll be in my study. Call me when you're done." He went out. Frodo stood watching him go, the tension never leaving his frame for a moment.

"Sit down, Frodo," I said quietly.

Slowly, he turned, walked over to the chair Rory had just vacated, and perched there, on the edge. He didn't meet my eyes.

"Now, what is this about?" If something had provoked Frodo into this outburst, it must be earth-shattering indeed, at least to him. He's not exactly given to such fits and storms, but tends more to keep everything inside.

Frodo swallowed, but spoke civilly. "I just wanted to know if it was true, what they were saying."

"Well, I can't tell you yes or no if I don't know what it was 'they' said, now can I? And who are 'they', by the way?"

"Cousin Marmadas and someone else. Ferdinand Took, I think. I don't know him well, so I wasn't sure. I heard them gossiping. They didn't know I was there."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"No!" Frodo glared at me for a moment before dropping his gaze, his eartips going pink again. "Well, I suppose I was, but I didn't mean to. I was there first, after all. I was playing seek-and-chase with Merry and Brandey, and I was hiding from them, in the cellar."

I nodded to signal that I accepted his story so far. I knew that Frodo usually divided his time between reading and helping the adults, which often consisted of minding the younger children. He was like an extra unofficial brother to some of them, Merry especially.

Frodo went on. "Marmadas and Ferdinand came in to taste some of the new ale Uncle Rory had delivered yesterday, and they were talking. About you, especially the fact that you were planning to adopt me."

"What did they say?"

Frodo straightened, his eyes half-closed, obviously summoning his rather formidable memory. He can often recall things he has seen and heard in great detail, for quite a long time after they occurred, particularly if they made an impression on him. It is a talent that will serve him well if he should decide to become a writer of history (which is partly why I am encouraging him to do just that). Yet it may also be a curse to him, I can't help thinking.

He proceeded to recite the conversation as if it were part of a story; he even used slightly different voices to indicate changes in speakers. "Marmadas said, 'It's the talk of Hobbiton. I was just there on business, and the whole place was fair abuzz with it. Bilbo Baggins getting himself a new heir, all sudden-like.'

"'Really?' asked Ferdinand. 'I thought he was the confirmedest bachelor there was. Where would he dig up an heir? Unless it's something coming back to bite him on the backside, and he's making the best of it, so to speak?'

"'No, no, nothing like that,' said Marmadas. 'As a matter of fact, it's a boy who lives here, a cousin of both of ours. Frodo Baggins.'

"'Who?'

"'Don't tell me you don't know him. The orphan?'

"'Oh, wait. Pale little thing, eyes like saucers, looks like he'd blow away in a stiff breeze?'

"'That's him. Primula's lad. Seems old Bilbo's had his eye on him for quite some time; there's been a lot of visiting back and forth. A while back, he went to the solicitors in Hobbiton and had them start drawing up the papers for adopting the boy, if you can believe it. He's here now, talking with Rory. I imagine they're signing 'em right this minute.'

"'Well, I'll be,' said Ferdinand. Then he laughed. 'I don't believe it. He's finally found him a loophole.'

"'What loophole?' asked Marmadas.

"'It's not happened in the Shire in a long time, at least not in any of the great families, but there's a way that the head of a family, if he's got no issue of his own, can pass over the one who'd be his heir by the traditional route. You know how Otho Sackville-Baggins was all set to inherit from Bilbo, him being the only son of Bilbo's dad's next-oldest brother, even though he and Bilbo are like oil and water? Well, it's not all that well known, but a family head, like Bilbo is, can get around that by adopting a male heir of the same name. I used to study the law; that's how I know.'

"'Ah,' said Marmadas. 'And here's our little Frodo, all wrapped up in a neat package, like a present just for Bilbo. No wonder Bilbo always makes such a fuss over the two of them having the same birthday.'

"'Amazing how things work out, isn't it?'

"'Ruddy convenient, is what it is. For both of 'em. You should have seen how Frodo perked up after Bilbo started paying attention to him. Can't say as I blame him, though. I would, too, if some rich relation decided I was worth using to score off his unfavoritest cousin.'"

Finally Frodo opened his eyes and looked steadily, accusingly, at me. "They laughed, and went on to other things, and then they left."

I kept calm, though inside I was seething. I'd been afraid of this. Oh, I was well aware of the raised eyebrows and the excited whispers that had run throughout the Shire, especially Hobbiton, since I started the proceedings. Most people who knew something of the law seemed to find my cleverness highly amusing. Of course, Otho and Lobelia were fit to be tied, and were fighting it, but most agreed that they didn't have a leg to stand on, and that I had a perfect right to adopt someone if I wanted.

But I had been hoping that the talk of this aspect of it wouldn't reach Frodo's ears, at least not until after he was well settled with me, and much more sure of things than he was now. As it was, he had spent far too many years as nobody's child, with scarred past and uncertain future, for this not to have shaken him to the core. Inwardly, I scolded myself for letting this happen, for not having had the courage to take him in long ago and spare him those lonely years.

He was waiting for a response, for some reassurance, so I said at last, "I'm sorry, my boy, that you had to hear that."

"So it is true? I'm a -- loophole?" Frodo's voice had gone very quiet, a sign that he was fighting tears.

I thought quickly. He deserved the truth, and besides, we had agreed long ago that there were never to be any secrets between us.

"No," I told him firmly. "I won't lie to you; I do admit that technically Marmadas and Ferdinand are correct. You see, not only are Otho and I 'oil and water', but I find the thought of him, his shrew of a wife, and that odious son of theirs living in my home repugnant. I've spent a lot of sleepless nights worrying about the ways they would use my money once they got their claws on it, and how they would treat my tenants and my employees. So of course I have long been looking for a way to prevent that from happening, short of tying myself to a wife, although I would have done that if need be."

"And I'm the way?" To his credit, Frodo was still managing to remain calm, much more so than he had been a little while ago, though his tone was rather bitter. "You looked around for an orphan with the name Baggins, and I happened to fit the bill?"

"Frodo!" I said sharply. "Don't presume to guess my motives, lad. When was it that I first began coming to Brandy Hall to visit you especially? When did the presents and the walks and the Elvish lessons begin? Hm?"

He had the grace to flush as he looked down and admitted, "Not very long after Mum and Da drowned. A year or two, maybe."

"And when was it that I told you that I wanted to adopt you?"

Frodo looked at me quizzically, plainly wondering what I was leading up to. "Last fall, just after our birthday, the evening before I left Bag End for home again. You said, 'You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad, and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.'"

I nodded, remembering the rare gift of a purely joyous smile, free of the shadows of grief, that had lit Frodo's face at those words. "That's right. Well, as it happens, it was only after I began making inquiries with my solicitor about what it would take to adopt you that he mentioned the inheritance 'loophole', and that I might kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, with this procedure."

He was silent, pondering whether or not he should believe me, no doubt.

"And there is also this, Frodo. My solicitor made it clear that I didn't have to bring you to live with me if I didn't want to. The adoption could have been on paper only, though no less binding. If either you or I preferred that you remain in Brandy Hall, you would still be my heir, and still have all the same rights that you would have had if you had been my blood son; and neither Otho nor anybody else would be able to do a thing about it. You may ask any solicitor you wish to, if you don't trust my word. Just don't ask Ferdinand, as his understanding of the law seems to be woefully incomplete."

I could see a tear at last tracing its way down Frodo's cheek, before he unexpectedly left his chair to kneel before me, clasping my knees in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Uncle Bilbo," he said thickly.

I stroked his dark hair, and patted his shoulders as they heaved with his sobs. "Dear lad, it's all right."

"But I was horrible to you! Can you forgive me? I'll understand if you don't -- if you don't want to adopt me any more."

"Don't be silly! I've gone to a lot of trouble to arrange it, after all. It would be a shame to let all that bother go to waste, all because of a bit of temper." I gently pushed him away a little to look into his eyes. "The question is, can you forgive me?"

Frodo stared at me, clearly thunderstruck. "What? For-forgive you? What for?"

"For not doing it sooner. For not taking you away from here when I first thought of it, which was right after the funeral, when everyone was deciding where you should go. I had a duty to you, Frodo, because I was head of the Baggins family, and you were a Baggins. But I let your mother's family talk me into leaving you with them. They told me I knew nothing of caring for a child -- which was true enough, I'll grant, though I could have learned -- and you should stay in Buckland, the only home you had ever known. And at the time, it made sense to me. Especially since neither of your father's siblings was, let's say, able to take you." (Dora, Drogo's sister, was an odd spinster who didn't care much for children; Dudo, his brother, had a daughter who had never gotten along with Frodo.)

Frodo took the handkerchief I gave him. "But it hasn't been that bad here, Uncle, truly it hasn't," he argued, though without much conviction. "I've got a roof over my head, a full belly and clothes on my back."

And plenty of reminders every day of how grateful you ought to be for that much, I thought. I had done a bit of digging, suffice it to say, and did not much like what I had found. Frodo had indeed been housed, fed, and clothed, and there were people here who cared for him -- like Rory and Esme, and Esme's little son Merry, who positively doted on Frodo and followed him about like a pup. But in a bustling place like Brandy Hall, full of families, and children who had parents, it was only too easy for one orphaned lad, particularly a quiet sort like Frodo, to be overlooked.

As a matter of fact, I knew he'd gotten himself into trouble several times through this lack of adequate supervision, most notably with Farmer Maggot -- a little matter of stolen mushrooms, it seemed. Frodo had apparently toed the line ever since then, but the basic problem remained. He needed a situation where he could receive the full attention and guidance of at least one adult, not somewhere where he was little more than a face in the crowd and a mouth to feed.

I still wasn't altogether sure that I was up to the task, but I was convinced now that I owed it to Frodo to at least try.

I refrained from pointing all this out to Frodo. The lad was already torn up enough, between seeing the truth of it and feeling obliged to defend the Hall nonetheless. Instead, I said gently, "I think it's about time for you to ask a little more from life than just a place to hang your hat, Frodo."

He sniffled, but managed a watery smile. "I don't have a hat."

"Then I'll get you one, for our next birthday." I ruffled his hair for emphasis, then slid my hand down to the back of his neck to pull him closer as I leaned forward to kiss his brow. "Unfortunately, my lad, people love to gossip, and it makes some of them feel better to find the bad in everything." I know that, for one thing, tongues have been wagging for years about Drogo and Primula and why they died. The most popular, and malicious, theory is the one involving an argument on the boat, ending in mutual murder. The fact that no one had ever heard so much as a cross word between them in life makes no difference.

As if losing them weren't enough, Frodo has had to listen to these horrible things about his parents ever since their deaths, until even he has started to wonder if there might be some truth in them. He doesn't need that. What he needs is a fresh start.

I had been about to add more, when suddenly I had another thought. Frodo saw the change in my expression. He peered at me and frowned. "What is it, Uncle?"

I gave him a wry smile. "I'm afraid it just now occurred to me that by moving in with me, you will most likely only be essentially trading one set of rumors for another. Are you certain you want your name attached to the company of old Mad Baggins? They'll say -- let's see...they'll say I didn't really adopt you from the Brandybucks, but bought you from the Elves." He chuckled. I went on. "They'll say there was some sort of blackmail involved. Or that you charmed me into adopting you so you could get my money. Or that it's all part of a plot between you and Gandalf to do away with me."

"I haven't even met Gandalf!" Frodo protested, but he was smiling, seeing the humor in it.

"Do you think they'll know that, or care?"

Frodo laid his head on my knee. "I don't care. Let them say whatever they want. We'll know the truth."

He couldn't see my proud smile as I stroked his hair lightly, but I'm sure he heard it in my voice. "That's right, my boy. We'll know."

***

Note: In LOTR, Tolkien often has one of his characters recite conversations in full when telling someone else what happened, so that's what I was thinking when I had Frodo do it.