Chapter Three: Breakfast for Two

4. Forelithe 1374

Birds chirped joyfully announcing the new morning, and the first sunbeams shimmered into the spacious bedroom, illuminating the shelf on the opposite side of the window. Various books and rolls - not only in the Common Tongue but also in Elvish - lay on it. Beneath the window stood a big wooden chest where Bilbo kept his linens and some small treasures. One door of the scrolled, wooden drawer was open and Bilbo's neatly folded shirts could be seen. A basket filled with laundry stood on a carpet at the foot of the bed. Beside the bed on a nightstand lay a book and a burnt-down candle.

Frodo looked at all these things wide-eyed though the last shreds of sleep still shimmered in his bright, blue eyes. He was lying in Bilbo's bed, held securely by his uncle's right arm. Snuggling closer to his uncle and taking a deep breath of the smell of pipe-weed that still lingered on him, Frodo smiled and listened to Bilbo's soft snoring.

He remembered the evening before, when Bilbo had brought him to bed after dinner. Bilbo had prepared a bed for him in one of the guestroom - a room bigger than his own bedroom at home - and although Bilbo had left the door open, Frodo couldn't find any sleep there. The moon, though only half had cast eerie shadows on the wall and in the hearth, while the fire had long gone out, had been a ghastly glow of embers. Frodo had pulled his blanket close and shut his eyes to listen. Surely he would forget his fears if he listened to the comforting sounds inside the hobbithole. But there had been hardly any sound inside Bag End. He hadn't been able to hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth, couldn't catch the hushed voices of his parents as usual - and Bilbo had not talked for there had been no-one to talk to. Frodo had wondered how lonely his uncle must be and how quiet his life was - too quiet for his liking. Opening his eyes again Frodo had lain in silence a little longer before getting up and scuffling into the parlour with his blanket wrapped over his shoulders.

When Bilbo had seen him, his eyes were full of concern. Frodo had managed a sleepy smile and had shyly announced that he didn't feel very comfortable in the big, silent chamber Bilbo had prepared for him. Bilbo had carried him into his room then and promised to stay with him until Frodo had fallen asleep. Frodo didn't know if his uncle had gotten up again afterwards or if he had fallen asleep even before he did.

Now Frodo realized that the blanket he had brought with him the evening before was gone and that he was snuggled not only into his uncle's arm but also his blanket. The young hobbit smiled again and slowly even the last dots of sleepiness vanished from his eyes. Yawning he wondered what he should do next. Of course, he could stay in bed coiling up and trying to find some more sleep, but that was absolutely not to his liking. He would have to lie quiet then, for he didn't want to disturb his uncle who was still in deep slumber. The old hobbit looked so very peaceful that Frodo didn't dare to wake him and he just lay beside him and watched, listening to the twittering birds outside.

When Bilbo showed no sign of waking but snored even louder than before Frodo became restless. Lying in bed when the day had already begun was boring and he decided that he could entertain himself quite well until his uncle had wakened.

Carefully he tried to wriggle from Bilbo's embrace which turned out to be quite difficult for his uncle's arm rested heavily on his ribs. Taking Bilbo's limp arm warily into his hands Frodo lifted it - and froze in his movement as his uncle suddenly murmured in his sleep and turned around. To Frodo's relief Bilbo now had his back turned towards him and his arm was no longer wrapped about him.

Slowly Frodo turned to get up. He suppressed a yelp when his feet touched something cold and soft on the ground. Looking down he noticed it was his blanket he was standing on. In the course of the night he must have thrown it onto the ground. On his tiptoes the young hobbit stepped to the door, freezing whenever a beam creaked.

With a sigh of relief Frodo leaned against the wall when he finally closed the door behind him. Bilbo had not wakened, which was at least a good beginning. Now he needed only to decide how he would entertain himself until his uncle did wake up.

In the hallway it was still dark and Frodo trotted into the kitchen where he had at least the light of the dawning day. There he sat down on a chair, feet dangling, twitching one of his curls that didn't know where it belonged and just stuck out into the air. His mother always said that his hair was hard to tame, especially in the mornings and this morning was obviously no exception. Frodo held both his hands on his head in hope the opinionated strand of hair would thus stay where it belonged - but it didn't. With a sound of "hmpf" Frodo gave it up and rested his chin on his hands looking into the distance, thinking.

He could light a fire - a proper day always started with lighting the kitchen fire - but he wasn't exactly sure how to make the ashes burn again and his father had told him that he still was too young for such a task. Frodo was just about to sigh when another thought hit his mind, and instead of a sigh a chuckle escaped his lips. What else did a proper day start with? Breakfast, of course! He would prepare the breakfast table and thus surprise his uncle.

Frodo could almost see his uncle standing in the door - eyes half closed, hair dishevelled - looking into the kitchen in surprise. Bread, jam, honey, butter, tea - everything was already on the table and he, Frodo, stood beside it and grinned proudly at his uncle, who was still blinking and rubbing his eyes, obviously unsure if he could believe what he saw. The kitchen table sparkled in the first light of the day and Bilbo had nothing to do but to sit down and eat his breakfast.

With that image in his mind Frodo hopped down from the chair raring to go. Suddenly he stopped his face a picture of meditation - brow furrowed, eyes thoughtful, lips pressed firmly together. He knew what had to be on a breakfast table, but he had no idea where to find these things. Well, it was best to look in the pantry first, as he already knew of some things that could be found there.

On his tiptoes Frodo stepped into the hallway, making absolutely sure his uncle wouldn't wake before he was finished. To Frodo's despair the pantry was even darker than the hallway and he could hardly make out what the many jars on the shelves contained. He sighed trying to remember what kind of light Bilbo had used the day before when his eyes suddenly fell upon a candle and a matchbox. Carefully, not to burn his fingers - he was only allowed to light a candle when either his mother or his father was with him - Frodo lit the match producing some sparks. He gasped, eyes growing wide. Very slowly he moved his hand to the candle, his nervous eyes locked on the small flame. The wick caught fire and Frodo's eyes sparkled in the new light. Flickering shadows danced across the shelves and over his face making visible the broad grin the child was carrying, while the flame on the match burned down licking at Frodo's thumb and forefinger. The young hobbit shook his hand letting the match drop, yelping and biting his lip just an instant later. Blowing his fingers and sucking at them Frodo stood and listened, hoping he had not woken his uncle with his cry.

When he heard no sound he sighed in relief, looking at his fingertips. They were slightly red and hot but did not hurt that much. Picking up the match from the floor, Frodo put it into the matchbox and sighed. He mustn't let Bilbo know that he had played with fire. The soft light of the candle illuminated the shelves and Frodo could see the jar of strawberry jam Bilbo had fetched the day before standing on the shelf just inches above his head and Frodo had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it. With a victorious smile he pressed the jar to his breast and looked up again. He could see some butter, honey and milk but no matter how much he stretched, he would not be able to reach them.

He needed something to stand upon and the first thing that came to his mind was a chair from the kitchen, though it would be difficult to get it into the pantry without making too much noise. Thinking of another solution Frodo finally arrived at the decision that there was none, thus he silently hurried back into the kitchen and stood on his tiptoes to place the jar of jam on the table before fetching a chair and manoeuvring it into the pantry. The chair proved harder to carry than Frodo had hoped. He had difficulties with it forever and anon, bumping it noisily into the wall.

Frodo sat down, recovering his breath, looking up at the shelves and listening. There was still no sound of Bilbo. The candle flickered when the child picked it up, stood on the chair and placed it on another, higher shelf. Frodo was now just in height of butter, milk and eggs. A grin crossed his flushed face as he grabbed for the milk and put it down on the chair before reaching for the butter. He didn't believe that eggs would be needed.

Now only that jar of honey was missing. Frodo looked up. It was just like before when he had to grab the jar of jam, only he was standing on a chair now. Looking at the ground, Frodo noticed that it was quite high to fall and an uneasy feeling spread in his stomach. Closing his eyes he swallowed hard. There was no room to be scared now if he wanted to surprise his uncle - and what was a breakfast table without honey? He took a deep breath and stood on his tiptoes. The chair swayed but did not fall while Frodo reached out his right hand and felt for the jar.

"Please," he whispered when his fingers touched the cold glass but couldn't grab it. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable on the unstable surface. Standing on the edge of the chair he stretched even more and was finally able to get hold of the jar. It was in this moment that his left foot slipped from the chair. The candle flickered. Luckily Frodo reacted swiftly, held on to the shelf above him with his free left hand and caught his balance just in time.

Frodo held his breath while hot tears were burning in his eyes and he slowly got down off the chair. His feet had turned to jelly and his hands were trembling. Gasping for breath he sat down. He had almost fallen - but he had got the honey. He looked at the jar in his hands, quickly forgetting his fear and a smile returned to his face.

Swiftly he brought his acquirements into the kitchen, standing on his tiptoes to place them on the table beside the jam. The milk slopped over the edge and some of the liquid dripped on the floor. The butter also slipped from his hands and fell to the ground where Frodo picked it up again, before hurrying back to the pantry, still making a point of not waking his uncle. The candle still stood on a shelf above him and Frodo got, once more, on the chair to get it down again and blew it out. He mustn't leave any traces of his playing with fire earlier. With the chair in his hands Frodo went back into the kitchen, bumping into the wall and stumbling just as he did before.

In the kitchen he first opened the cupboard where Bilbo had put in the loaf of bread the day before and took it to the table. Haste was needed for sunrise was now over and his uncle could wake up at any moment. Frodo opened almost every drawer and lower cupboard in the kitchen to find knives and dishes for Bilbo and him. The cutlery he did find but instead of cups and plates he found many pans and cooking pots. Whether he liked it or not, he would need the chair again to reach the higher cupboards.

The first door he opened was filled with pots of flour, sugar, dried herbs and fruits and other useful things one needed in the kitchen. Frodo was taking hold of the lowest shelf to make sure he wouldn't fall while he looked into every one of the pots to see if there maybe was something in them he might need. The chair swayed and the young hobbit desperately wanted to grab the shelf with his other hand as well, but instead he took hold of the sugar pot which fell down and its grainy contents was scattered on the work space. Frodo let the pot lie where it was - maybe Bilbo needed sugar for his tea?

Meanwhile the chair stood still again and the lad fought to open the next door where he finally discovered what he had looked for - plates and cups. Frodo ran to put the dishes on the table as well, being a bit more careful than with the jam and the honey, and sat on the corner seat before placing them on the table making sure they wouldn't fall down.

Now only cheese and a bit of ham were missing, but Frodo hadn't found them, though he had opened every cupboard in the kitchen - without closing every one again. Nervously the lad looked out of the window and noticed to his surprise that it was darker than before. Looking up at the sky he saw dark rain clouds gathering - clouds that made it impossible for him to tell how much time had passed since he had started his breakfast-making. If only Bilbo didn't wake up until he was finished.

Quickly Frodo hurried into the second of Bag End's pantries and was greeted by the smell of cheese. His stomach grumbled in response though Frodo couldn't see where the source of the smell was as it was utterly dark and Frodo regretted having blown out the candle he had used before. He was too scared to light it again; his fingers still remembering their first encounter with fire. As if the mere thought of it had awakened it again, the burning pain returned to his fingertips and he sucked at them. He would have to find what he needed in darkness, only with the help of his nose and hands. To Frodo's utter delight his nose was a very good guide and it didn't take him long to get some cheese and some sausages to take back to the kitchen.

When the table was finally set and everything was prepared Frodo gave a proud eye to what he had achieved. He peeked into the hallway to see if the door to Bilbo's room would open - but nothing happened and Frodo began to wonder how long a hobbit like Bilbo could sleep. "If he doesn't wake up soon he'll sleep away the day!"

But then another thought hit his mind. Had he not pondered about having breakfast brought to his bed just a day ago? Frodo would surprise Bilbo even more if he brought his breakfast to his bed.

The picture in Frodo's mind of Bilbo standing in the kitchen door and gazing at the table in awe disappeared, and was replaced by the image of a just awakened Bilbo sitting in his bed, drowsy eyes resting on Frodo, who was carrying a tray in his hands and grinned at his uncle in delight. The old hobbit wore an expression of utter joy and surprise.

Frodo giggled and ran to the table, standing on the chair and sitting down on the edge of the desk, so he could reach the jar of jam. He would spread his uncle a slice of bread with jam and then maybe prepare another piece of bread with a slice of cheese.

The jar was closed with a cork and Frodo pulled at it to get it open, but it didn't work. He tried to turn it, but the cork didn't move an inch. Pressing his lips together and penning the jar in between his thighs Frodo pulled at the cork with all his strength. His face flushed, small tears of strain gathering in his eyes. The tip of his tongue stuck out while Frodo gasped for breath to find new strength - but the cork did not move. However, the lad did not give up, pulling even harder until he was almost trembling with strenuousness.

That was the scene that presented itself to Bilbo as he stepped into the kitchen. Frodo only wearing his nightgown, sitting on the edge of an already prepared breakfast table, hair dishevelled, face flushed, eyes teary with strain and body trembling. Milk was dripping from a puddle on the table just inches away from Frodo's bottom. Beside the puddle of milk that had formed on the ground was a grease spot and Bilbo could see that it was obviously from the butter, as there were some dirty crumbs on it. Several cupboards and drawers on the other side of the kitchen were open and Bilbo could see the sugar bowl lying on the work space, sugar scattered all over it.

When Bilbo had wakened just moments before and realized that Frodo was not beside him anymore he was on his feet within a second, fearing that Frodo might have gotten into mischief. Bilbo's worry increased, when Frodo did not answer to his calling. Now that he saw him sitting on a set table he could hardly believe his eyes. Blinking he looked at his young nephew. "Frodo, what's this all about?"

Frodo jumped, giving a yelp and the jar of jam dropped from his hands and fell onto the ground where it broke into pieces. He looked at Bilbo, eyes wide with shock but didn't say a word. His gaze wandered over the kitchen table to the broken jar on the ground before coming back to rest upon Bilbo. "You shouldn't be here," he sobbed breaking into tears.

Bilbo did not understand. For a moment he could only stare at the lad and at the mess in the kitchen. What had he done to upset his young nephew so much he had to cry?

Frodo was wailing loudly now, sitting forlornly on the edge of the table. The picture in his mind had broken to pieces like a mirror falling onto the ground, and he cried out all the anguish of a spoiled surprise. He had taken great pains upon him and now Bilbo turned up in the middle of everything and all because of that stupid cork that didn't get loose of the jar.

Frodo's wailing was all Bilbo could take and he swiftly crossed the distance between them and fetched his dear nephew into his arms to soothe whatever pain he had caused him. He didn't even have to ask what had happened - Frodo started talking as soon as Bilbo had lifted him off the table. Unfortunately all he could make out was 'spoiled' and 'surprise' but that was enough for Bilbo to know what was the reason for all this. His heart bubbled over with love for this little child. "I am surprised," he assured.

Frodo looked at him, flushed face now wet with tears. "Really?" he asked, his bright eyes demanding the truth. Bilbo nodded, but the lad wasn't satisfied yet. "But the jam," he sobbed, gasping for breath between his words, "I couldn't open it and I couldn't bring the breakfast to your bed and…'"

"My dear lad," Bilbo soothed kissing his cheek before Frodo could finish his sentence. "You really wanted to bring breakfast to me?" When Frodo nodded Bilbo hugged him even tighter. "You're a gem, but you shouldn't coddle an old sleepyhead like me. If I don't get to breakfast in time you shouldn't bring breakfast to me. That would make me even lazier than I already am and you would have a lot of work to do every morning."

Frodo giggled, when Bilbo winked and brushed his tears away. "Why are you such a sleepyhead, Uncle Bilbo?"

"That's a long story, my lad," Bilbo laughed, "too long to be told before breakfast. You must be starving!"

Grinning broadly, Frodo nodded, but then his smile faded and he looked shaken, his eyes wandering to the broken jar. "I have spoiled the jam."

"We'll clean that up swiftly," Bilbo assured with a smile, putting Frodo back on the ground and ruffling the boy's curls. "And then we'll have a nice cup of tea and a proper breakfast."

Frodo looked up at his uncle, wiping away the last traces the tears had left on his face. "I've prepared everything else, so you will have to make the tea," he declared and a cheeky grin crossed his flushed face. "And don't dawdle - I'm starving!"

Bilbo shook his head and chuckled hurrying off to fetch a cloth.