Chapter Four: A Deliberate Mess

Wind whistled and howled while ever-darkening rain clouds watered the land beneath. The soft patter of rain against the small, round window of the parlour mingled with the crackling in the fireside where a fresh log was greedily swallowed by its licking flames. A comforting glow of yellow and red filled the room when Bilbo rose to his feet, placing the tongs in a fixture beside the hearth, stretched and returned to his armchair sitting down with a contented sigh. Taking up his book about elvish poetry Bilbo glanced over to his nephew with a loving smile.

The young hobbit sat on the ground playing with some carved animals - a pony, a pig and two sheep - he had found in the backpack his mother had prepared and talked with disguised voice. Bilbo chuckled. Even when Frodo had no-one to chat with he kept talking.

The tears Frodo had shed in the morning were quickly forgotten, not least because Bilbo had allowed him to spread jam on a piece of bread once the jar had been opened. During breakfast Frodo had given him a full account of his adventures while preparing everything - at least that was what Bilbo thought, but Frodo mentioned neither the candle nor his almost-accident with the match. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder how Frodo had found everything without any light, though he suspected that the young lad's report was missing something. Yet, as nothing had happened, Bilbo did not show that he suspected what the boy's secret was. Other things, such as Frodo's breakneck activity on the shelf, disturbed him much more and he didn't even dare to think about it longer than for the length of Frodo's account. He certainly had to be up earlier tomorrow to avoid such things from happening again. This day the boy had been saved by luck, but who knew what could happen the next day?

Bilbo began to read. It was early afternoon now. The rain had started some time after breakfast when he had cleaned up the mess Frodo had left. Luckily it hadn't been as much work as Bilbo had feared and he had finished quickly. Frodo had been playing with his carved animals since the morning and only paused for lunch. Bilbo was amazed at how little entertainment the young hobbit needed and wondered why Primula worried so much, when he was so easy to look after.

Bilbo, of course, did not know what was on Frodo's mind. He was so engrossed in his book and his own thoughts that he didn't realize that the lad's talking had become less and that he was sneaking a glance at him ever so often now. Frodo was also moving slowly but deliberately to his uncle's side always taking the animals with him so not to attract any attention. The thought of the past night had returned to his mind. It was definitely too quiet in this hobbithole and Uncle Bilbo seemed to have forgotten about how important talking was. Rain pattering against a window was all right, but if no-one drowned the in itself nice sound after a while, Frodo began to feel uncomfortable. Besides, the animals bored him by now and he felt the urgent need to go in for something with his uncle, who - in Frodo's opinion - didn't look all content either. Frodo liked stories, but books, too, must be getting boring after a time - even if the reader was Bilbo Baggins, master of tales and storytelling.

Frodo chuckled. He had given Bilbo that name some time in Afteryule when his uncle had come for a visit and told him many tales while he sat at the fireside, snuggled into his father's arms, a scarf warmly wrapped around his sore throat. Just before his father had carried him into his bed Frodo had declared his uncle the master of tales and storytelling and he had been very happy to have found such a creative and suitable name for his uncle. His parents and Bilbo had laughed and Bilbo had told him that he liked this name far better than master burglar - the name he had gotten from the dwarves.

Bilbo jerked and looked at his nephew in surprise as the boy made himself comfortable on the ground in front of him, leaning his back against his legs. A smile crossed his face though he had not even time to wonder how the boy had sneaked up on him without his noticing. Frodo leaned his head back so he could look into his face and grinned broadly, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Now, was that what Primula had tried to warn him of?

"Uncle Bilbo," Frodo began, making his voice sound as innocent and harmless as he could manage. Looking directly into his uncle's eyes, his own eyes huge and pleading, he smiled again, knowing that he had now his uncle's full attention. "Play with me!"

Bilbo grinned, laying the book aside. Wasn't that what he had secretly waited for? He lifted the boy up to sit him upon his lap. "And what would you like to play, my lad?"

The young hobbit laid both hands around his uncle's neck, twitching a grey strand of hair just behind Bilbo's ear. "I don't know," he said shrugging, but his eyes glinted.

Yet again, Bilbo found himself wondering if that was the look Primula had spoken of. 'He's up to something more often than one thinks,' she had said and Bilbo could now clearly feel that Frodo had something in mind though he didn't know yet what implied 'something' was. However he was sure that it wouldn't take long until Frodo came out with it.

"How big are dragons?" the young hobbit wanted to know and the seriousness in his voice surprised Bilbo.

"Well," Bilbo responded stunned. If the lad wanted to hear one of his tales why didn't he say so straight away? Frodo wasn't that timid usually - on the contrary. Anyway, he would tell him about Smaug, the dragon, and his adventure with the dwarves. "The dragon I have seen, Smaug, was red and golden and his body was enormous. He was vast beyond measure and his chest was littered with diamonds and sparklers."

"Yes," Frodo interrupted, somewhat impatient. "I know that already." He had stopped twitching the curl behind Bilbo's left ear and looked now gravely into his uncle's eyes - a look that made Bilbo feel uncomfortable. Frodo was up to something. "I don't mean how the dragon looked like. I just want to know about his size," the lad explained matter-of-factly. "Would he fit into Bag End's cellar - hypothetically?"

Now Bilbo was completely at a loss. Why was Frodo so mysterious? What was the lad driving at? Well, he had been warned, hadn't he? Now he experienced first-hand what Primula had told him before - and not only she but Drogo as well. They had told him about Frodo's cunning many times and Bilbo had laughed and answered that it was the Baggins-side appearing. He hadn't even thought that the lad would outwit him one day - or that this day would come so soon. "Well, I don't think so," he answered haltingly.

Frodo mumbled something incomprehensible, leaning his head on Bilbo's shoulder and after a time Bilbo thought the muffled words had sounded like: "No dragons in the cellar then. So, where else could I find an adventure?"

"So that's what you're up to," Bilbo exclaimed turning his head so he could look into Frodo's face. "You want to go on an adventure."

Frodo's cheeks turned rosy and he looked at his uncle with a caught expression, bright, blue eyes shyly lowered. Burying his face bashfully in Bilbo's collar, Frodo's small hands resumed their work on his uncle's curls.

Bilbo chuckled. "Now that's what all that talk about dragons is all about," he ruffled Frodo's curly head. "I fear, my lad, you won't find any dragons inside Bag End."

"Let's go outside, then," Frodo suggested his eyes shining.

"I guess there won't be any dragons outside either. Least not when it's weather like this," he mentioned with a nod to the window. Thick raindrops were dripping down the windowsill and a strong wind bent the plants in the garden.

Frodo sat up on his uncle's lap looking confused - brow furrowed, lips thoughtfully curved. "Don't dragons like the rain?"

"I don't think so," Bilbo answered grinning, "but I know what you might like as we have to postpone whatever adventure might be waiting for us. What about a card-game?"

The lad looked disappointed but after a while, when he couldn't think up anything better, he complied. Thus Bilbo put a new log into the fire and while the rain continued the two of them sat down at the table and started their game. Frodo suggested which game they should play as he didn't know all possible card-games. Anyway, his father had showed him some of the simpler ones and he now chose one where your aim was to get all your opponent's cards. The one who first lost all his cards also lost the game. Frodo was the one with better fortune. Out of four games he won thrice.

However, as Bilbo had expected, the card-game soon bored Frodo and the boy complained that he was hungry. As Bilbo was hungry himself and had a craving for berries he thought about baking a strawberry cake. He knew Frodo loved strawberries and, like every other child in the Shire, would die for sweets and cakes. Luckily the Gaffer had picked up the strawberries growing in Bag End's garden yesterday morning, only minutes before Primula and Frodo had knocked at the door.

Leaving a rather bewildered Frodo standing alone in the parlour Bilbo went into one of Bag End's cellars where he kept the berries so they would stay fresh a little longer. Like in every other room without any windows and thus without any light, a candlestick and a matchbox stood just beside the door. Bilbo lit the candle and in the sparse light he went down into the deeper and cooler parts of the smial.

A shelf stood on the end of the corridor and there Bilbo found what he was looking for - a bowl filled with almost freshly picked strawberries. He looked at them in the dim candlelight, sniffed and ate one to proof if the berries were all right. They were delicious and thus perfect for a cake. A smile crossed his face as he took the bowl into his hands and hurried up the corridor again.

At the door Bilbo was already expected by Frodo who was gazing doubtfully into the darkness. He looked rather sceptical and fearful but when he saw Bilbo coming closer in the candlelight his face lit up as well. "What's in there?" he asked, pointing at the bowl and standing on his tiptoes in hope he could catch a glimpse of its contents.

"Strawberries," Bilbo told him with a grin, blowing out the candle and placing it beside the door again. "I thought you would like helping me baking a strawberry cake."

"A cake!" Frodo exclaimed, bouncing and running ahead to the kitchen. "What do we need? I can bring you everything."

"Easy now," Bilbo tried to calm down the boys excitement. "I will bring all the ingredients and you can help me mix them together."

Frodo nodded and dashed into the kitchen. Bilbo sighed and hoped he could slow down Frodo's eagerness. At least he was with him this time so nothing could happen - neither could Frodo climb any cupboards nor throw down pots with crumbly contents in the attempt. He went into the pantry to fetch six eggs and some butter before heading for the kitchen himself.

Frodo was already waiting for him. He had taken a chair from the table to climb onto the work space. There he sat now, feet dangling, fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden plate. "Quick," he urged. "I'm very hungry."

Bilbo grinned. "If you're that hungry you should probably eat something else now, as it will take at least an hour until the cake will be done."

A look of disappointment crossed Frodo's face but he quickly declared that he wasn't that hungry in fact. "But the sooner we start, the sooner we can have tea," he explained, picking a strawberry from the bowl as Bilbo put it down.

"You have a point at that," Bilbo laughed, ruffling Frodo's curls. Opening one of the lower cupboards he fetched a bowl and scales and placed them beside Frodo who eyed them curiously. "We need flour and sugar and a bit of water," Bilbo went on, took a cup from one of the upper cupboards and gave it to Frodo. "You may go and fill it."

Frodo hopped down, placed the cup on the chair and hurried with stool and all to the drawing well at the sink. Bilbo's eyes followed him, though the elder hobbit was soon occupied with weighing out sugar and flour. Swiftly Frodo climbed on the chair and placed the cup in the sink underneath the tap. With both hands the young hobbit gripped for the lever pulling with all his strength. There was a silent gurgling and with a splash the cold water came crackling down. A hiss escaped Frodo's lips because the cup was knocked over by the great amount of water.

"Everything all right?" Bilbo asked alerted by Frodo's sounds of discontent. The young hobbit quickly nodded and arranged the cup back in place before pulling at the lever once again - this time with less fervour. The gurgling was repeated, Frodo's heart sank and he quickly let go of the lever fearing another splash of water would erupt from the well. He grimaced, shielding his face with his hands as if that could lessen the water amount and - behold! - he was successful.

Frodo shouted with excitement, grabbed the cup and hopped down the chair spilling half of the water onto the stone floor. Bilbo jumped at Frodo's joyful outcry and almost lost hold of the pot of flour whose filling he was just pouring onto the scales. Anyhow, most of the flour ended up on the work space and the floor, joining the water that dripped form Frodo's hands and the cup the lad was holding out to him.

"Goodness, Frodo," Bilbo exclaimed, his voice slightly louder than he intended.

Frodo winced. "I didn't mean to startle you," he hurried to explain looking frightened. "I just… I have the water you wanted me to get." He held out the cup to him, his gaze pleading to accept the excuse lying hidden in the deep, blue pools of his eyes.

Bilbo took the cup, sighing. "It's all right. Nevertheless, could you please express your joy a bit more gently? I'm not used to such happy outcries."

The young hobbit nodded sheepishly and let Bilbo sit him on the work space again. A grin crossed his face. "You should visit us more often, Uncle Bilbo. You would get used to happy outcries then."

"I guess so," Bilbo answered returning to weighing out the flour. When he was done he put eggs, sugar and some spoonfuls of water into a bowl and beat everything with a spoon. Frodo watched him for a while in awe wondering how long it would take his uncle to get tired.

Obviously his uncle didn't tire easily and while Bilbo was still beating the mixture Frodo finally asked what had troubled him since Bilbo had brought him to bed the night before. "Aren't you lonely, Uncle Bilbo? I mean, everything is so awfully silent all the time and you are quiet too. Don't you like talking? Yesterday, when you brought me to bed suddenly everything fell silent and it was," the child hesitated for a moment, "it was creepy. Wouldn't you like to have some company - someone to talk to?"

Frodo eyed him curiously and yet his shining eyes were full of concern. The deep love Bilbo had felt in the morning stirred within him once again and he could hardly abstain himself from flinging his arms around the boy and hugging him tightly. Instead he smiled though the smile didn't truly reach his eyes. "Well, who should I talk to?"

"To me," the boy suggested. "I could stay up longer so you can chat a bit."

"That would please you, wouldn't it?" Bilbo laughed and this time it was true joy shining in his eyes. Frodo nodded, grinning broadly. "No, Frodo. I'm used to the quiet and I think I would be quite scared if there was somebody around me all the time."

"Do I frighten you?" The lad looked shaken and astonished at the same time.

Bilbo grinned. "You do the contrary, my lad. You remind me that there are other things than books and elvish scrolls in life - things that are more important, though that can be quite frightening too at times."

Frodo giggled as Bilbo winked though he didn't understand exactly what his uncle wanted to say. Bilbo paused in his beating, shaking his right arm to ease the pain in his tiring muscles. "I can help you," Frodo offered seeing that the quick, stirring movements finally took their toll.

"I have something different for you to do," Bilbo said stooping to fish a baking pan from one of the lower cupboards. "You can butter the baking-tin."

Frodo did as he was told and Bilbo returned to beating the mixture. When his task was finished the child hopped down again and hurried to the sink where the chair still stood. For a moment Frodo glanced out of the window noticing that the rain had lessened. Yet it was still dark and, as it would soon be teatime, he didn't expect to see the sun today. When he finally stood on the chair Frodo gave a disgusted sound as he made a fist and spread his fingers again. Small lumps of butter had found their way to the spaces between his fingers and his hands were all greasy. He grabbed the lever of the drawing well and pulled, but even before the first drops of water emerged, his hands slipped off. With a yelp Frodo stumbled sideward and fell from the chair.

Bilbo, seeing from the corner of his eye that his nephew was falling dropped everything in his hands and hurried to him. Unfortunately he knocked over his bowl spilling the yellowish-white mixture all over his work space.

For the second time that day tears were flowing, but Frodo's wailing was more from shock than from pain for Bilbo quickly noticed that the child had stopped the fall with his backside so there wasn't too much harm done. Cradling the young hobbit in his arms Bilbo tried his best to calm him and it didn't take long until loud sobs turned to silent whimpers. "It's not your good day today," Bilbo soothed stroking the boy's curls.

Frodo snivelled, hugging him even tighter pressing his flushed, damp cheek on his uncle's neck. Suddenly his eyes caught something and amidst his last sobs he started to giggle. "Neither it's your good day, Uncle."

Bilbo turned to see the mess on the work space. The cake mixture was spread all over it and some of the viscous liquid dripped on the floor, joining the water and flour that had been spilled earlier. "Oh dear," Bilbo sighed. Had he thought that nothing could happen now that he was with Frodo? He was obviously mistaken for what awaited him now was far worse than the mess his nephew had left in the morning.
Washing the child's hands Bilbo sat him back on the work space, where some strawberries helped to dry the last tears, while he busied himself with the cleaning up. Sadly he didn't have another six eggs and couldn't mix a second paste. Frodo was disappointed and almost began to weep anew when Bilbo found a solution. And when tea time finally arrived the two of them savoured eating a well-deserved bowl of strawberries with cream.

~*~*~

Frodo was all ears hanging on Bilbo's lips like a bee would stick to honey. The old hobbit sat in his armchair while Frodo was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, shining eyes wide open. A fire crackled in the hearth and its flickering flames cast long, eerie shadows on the wall, while the red light of their fire illuminated the faces of the two hobbits. Frodo felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle as his uncle explicitly described the dragon and the fire it spat. As unimpressed as he had acted in the afternoon, as stupefied he was now in the dim light of the hearth and with Bilbo's euphonious words in his ears that made everything even more authentic.

The ringing of the bell on the front door made them jerk and Frodo and his uncle exchanged enquiring looks. "Can I open the door?" the lad asked and when Bilbo nodded he added, "You can stay here, Uncle Bilbo. I'll tell you who it was and if I need you I can still call."

Bilbo chuckled but granted the boy his wish, though he pricked up his ears so he could intervene if Frodo didn't get along. He guessed Bell Gamgee would greet his nephew, bringing some stew like she had done the day before. That woman was just too good to him - and, if he guessed correctly, rather fond of Frodo.

The young hobbit quickly made his way to the door jerking it open, his eyes shining with joy. Then he froze, all excitement leaving his face making way to shock, surprise and even fear. Wide-eyed and with his mouth open Frodo stared at the person in front of him, feeling his legs slowly turning to jelly. Without any word he slammed the door shut and dashed back into the parlour, taking his concerned uncle's hand and hiding behind him, as the old hobbit rose to his feet.

"Uncle Bilbo, there's a monster at the door!" the lad exclaimed now all shaky, eyes still wide with fear. He pressed against his uncle's legs as Bilbo made an attempt to go to the door, half holding him back and half trying to stay as close to him as he could in case the monster would attack.

Bilbo had not even a chance to ask what happened for Frodo burst into a bubble of words. "It's a monster," he repeated, his voice shaking with alarm. "It is tall … and broad and," he paused to gasp for breath, "and it has hair in its face, Uncle Bilbo - long hair!" The child desperately clung to Bilbo's hand as the old hobbit made his way into the hallway. "Don't open the door, Uncle Bilbo. Please, don't open it."

Frodo closed his eyes in desperation, pressing his cheeks against his uncle's hips and hiding himself behind the old hobbit so that only his nose could be seen when he peeped out. "Don't open!" he pleaded again and then Bilbo's hand reached the knob.