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When Adventure Knocks  by Lily Dragonquill

Chapter Eight: The Long Way Home



6. Forelithe 1374


"No, I have to stay here in case the little one wakes up," Bilbo whispered from the door casting a glance over his shoulders to the big bed where his nephew was still sound asleep. "I wish you a safe journey, my dear friend, and don't forget to drop by when you head back to the Lonely Mountain."

Balin gave his small friend a hug. "Farewell, my dear Bilbo. I will certainly not miss your invitation." He smiled looking over to the bed. "I hope Frodo is not too sad that I leave without a word, but it would be a pity to wake him now, especially after he had been so tired yesterday evening."

"He will understand," Bilbo assured him though he was not so sure about that himself. Yet he did not want to wake Frodo either, it was, after all, still early in the morning and the child needed his sleep after the long journey the other day - and the one that was still ahead of them. He bowed deeply. "Goodbye."

He watched as Balin walked along the hallway to the common-room to have some breakfast. Only when the stout form of the dwarf disappeared in the shadows of the lamps hanging on the wall did Bilbo close the door and headed back to the bed where he carefully lay down beside his nephew.

He and Balin had talked far into the night, smoking their pipes and discussing Balin's departure in the morning. They had been sitting in the common-room though Bilbo was rather uncomfortable and got up to check on Frodo every few minutes, but the child had slept like a log and Bilbo guessed not even a herd of Oliphaunts would have wakened him. While they had talked it soon became obvious that Balin had to leave early and that Frodo would probably not be able to see him off - which would most likely end with Frodo being sad and disappointed, but that could not be helped.

"Daddy," the child mumbled in his sleep, his brow creased and his small hand lying beside his face on the pillow clenched. Bilbo stroke his nephew's tousled curls whispering words of comfort and Frodo snuggled closer to him sighing with relief and drifting back into the bottomless sleep he had had all night. Bilbo sighed. The past day's journey had tired Frodo out. He now thought that it had not been such a good idea to walk all the way with the child and he secretly cursed himself for expecting too much of Frodo. Maybe he could spare the boy today's walk and find someone who would take them as far as the crossing of the East Road and Bywater Road.

With that decision made, Bilbo's eyes dropped close once again and he fell into a deep slumber with his nephew snuggled close to him, warming him with his small body.


~*~*~



The flickering flame of a candle on a table was the only light that conquered the darkness in the room. It was a small room with no window and beside the big bed there was only a table and a chair in the far corner of the room. Bilbo's pack lay on the chair and Frodo's clothes hung neatly folded across its back.

Frodo's brow creased. When had he undressed? He turned on his back to let his gaze wander across the room. Where was he anyway? He could not remember anything but - walking, yes. Lots of walking! Too much walking! Carefully Frodo stretched his legs and reached down to touch his feet. They were sore and still tired from the long journey yesterday. Frodo moaned and leaned back in his pillows deciding without much brooding over that he would not walk again today, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Never again would he walk such a distance for which his feet would, without any doubt, be grateful.

Frodo turned over to examine Bilbo's sleeping form more closely. The fact that the old hobbit was with him was the only reason why he remained at ease, although he was at an unknown place in a room he had never seen before - a fact in urgent need of a change. He knew his uncle was a sleepyhead and liked to sleep long in the mornings, but now, with decisions made and unanswered question disturbing his not yet fully awakened mind the thought of waking him was more than inviting. He reached out a testing finger to touch the hollow of his uncle's neck which made the old hobbit wince. Frodo grinned and decided to repeat that treatment. The old hobbit grumbled in his sleep, his brow creasing. Frodo giggled delightedly and pulled himself up so that he could tickle his uncle's neck with both his hands.

Bilbo's protest grew louder and he drowsily pushed away the tickling trouble makers when he finally grew aware of his nephew's delighted snickers. "Frodo," he mumbled groggily trying to focus on his nephew's mischievous face.

Frodo was now sitting on the bed cross-legged wearing an exceedingly broad grin. The dim light of the candle cast a red flicker on his sleep-flushed cheeks. "Awake, sleepyhead?" he asked cheekily, seeing in his treatment almost a revenge for Bilbo's tickling the other day.

"You--" Bilbo threatened and flung the blanket around the child capturing him in a warm hug and ruffling his already tousled curls.

Frodo squealed but did not protest when Bilbo snuggled him against him but instead curled into the loving hobbit's arms and smiled. "Have you slept enough now?" Frodo asked. "Because, if you have, I want to tell you that I am not going to walk home today - or tomorrow - because walking is stupid and my feet would be very much obliged to you if they would not have to walk for at least a week." Frodo put on a determined look, lips stubbornly pressed together.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the child's precocious words. "Is that so?"

Frodo nodded firmly.

"Suppose we need to be staying here for a while then."

Another nod, then Frodo's brow creased. "Where is here and when did we arrive? Where is Balin?"

"You were already asleep when we arrived in Waymoot yesterday evening," Bilbo explained. "Balin and I arranged rooms for us in The Rose Garden and that's where we are now." The hobbit paused gazing thoughtfully into the candle's flame knowing very well that Frodo was looking at him expectantly although the child was busy messing around with the blanket Bilbo had wrapped him in. At length he went on, even if avoiding mentioning Balin's whereabouts. "I know it was a long and exhausting way for you so I already thought about our return journey. I shall see to it that we don't have to walk too far today."

"That's good," Frodo announced his attention now entirely focused on the blanket's lappet so Bilbo hoped he had for the moment gotten round the question about his friend. "What about Balin? Is he still asleep?"

Bilbo sighed inwardly, biting his lips. It didn't need long for his hopes to shatter. There was nothing for it; he had to break the news to him. "Well," he hesitated.

That was not a good start for Frodo's fingers stopped their fumbling and his brow creased. He was suspicious already. Bilbo coughed when Frodo's doubtful eyes met his. "Yes?" the child urged.

"Fact is," Bilbo went on unwilling to hurt Frodo and yet knowing that it would pain his nephew to learn that the dwarf had left. "Fact is that Balin left early this morning." Frodo's eyes grew wide. "You were still fast asleep and he - we both - didn't want to wake you because you had been so tired yesterday. He was very sorry that he had to leave without --"

"He's gone?!" Frodo called out freeing himself from the blanket and his uncle's arms. "How could he just leave?" Frodo's lower lip trembled, his fists clinging to the coverlets. Apparently the lad did not know if he should be sad or upset. "I thought he would--" he took a hitching breath his sad eyes suddenly looking up seeking understanding in Bilbo's. "He could have said goodbye at least, couldn't he, Uncle?" Another hitching and an unsuccessful try to hinder his lower lip from trembling. "Why did you not waken me?"

Bilbo laid an arm around the boys shoulder and pulled him close. He could understand his sadness but he knew it had been better this way. Balin had left an hour before sunset and as far as Frodo was concerned - Bilbo knew he would not have slept again, once he had been wakened. Considering their long walk the other day Frodo needed all the rest he could get or otherwise he would be grumpy and tired all day and their journey home would have been an ordeal for both of them. "Don't cry, Frodo," Bilbo soothed although the child was not crying - not yet. "We don't want to start every day you're with me with tears, do we?" Frodo shook his head but buried his face in the blanket he had pulled with him when Bilbo had hugged him. "Balin has a long journey still ahead of him, longer than the one we have taken upon us yesterday and he wanted to use as much of the day's light as he could. He was very sad not to have spoken with you a last time but he didn't want to wake you. Besides, he is going to visit me again when he returns back home and maybe we could arrange another meeting between the two of you."

"Really?" Frodo looked up. "Do you think mommy and daddy would allow it?"
"I know what I can do about your father and with his help, I think, we shall be able to convince your mother as well," Bilbo winked at him causing the child to smile, his bright eyes sparkling in the dim light. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. That's that!


~*~*~



The innkeeper herself, Linda Grubb, took care of Bilbo and Frodo when the two of them arrived in the common-room to have their breakfast. She offered them as good a breakfast as any hobbit could wish for with loads of cheese and sweet raspberry jam for the little one. She was a busy woman though willingly took her time to spoil her youngest guest for it was rather unusual that one of his age was staying at her inn. Beside Frodo and Bilbo there were only five more hobbits in the common-room taking a break from working and having a second (or maybe already third) breakfast.

Frodo watched the laughing and smoking hobbits wide-eyed while eating the fourth jam smeared slice of bread. This was something entirely new for him as he had never been at an inn before. The common-room had many windows along the eastside and was large beyond measure - at least to Frodo's eyes - full with tables and chairs and the air smelled of pipe-weed and of the wine, which remembered Frodo very much of Bilbo's wine cellar where he had found the mouse the day before, of beer - a strong smell which Frodo disliked - and of sweat and hay, after all the haymaking season had already begun.

While Frodo was busy scanning his surroundings Bilbo had a talk with Linda who had sat down at their table. He told her about their long journey and Frodo's weariness which Linda understood fully - she even scolded him for expecting so much of the little one which was enough for Bilbo to guiltily lower his eyes. But to his relief Linda was not only angry with him, but also offered her help. She told him that her husband, Togo, would go to Frogmorton around Elevenses for he had business with his friend, the innkeeper of The Floating Log. "I'm sure you can join him as far as the crossing," she assured Bilbo though her eyes were more on Frodo than on him.

Bilbo thanked her many times before heading back to their room where Bilbo packed the few belongings he had taken with him into his pack again while Frodo entertained himself with his carved animals. They had slept long that day and therefore did not have to wait long until Linda knocked on their door to tell them that Togo had the cart prepared and was ready to depart. Frodo and Bilbo quickly said their goodbyes before they left, Frodo being all delighted to be travelling with a cart this time. The last time he had travelled in a cart had been at Yule when he and his parents had visited his relatives in Buckland.

The first few miles Bilbo, sitting on the coach box, kept talking to Togo about his family and business while Frodo sat behind between the wine cask - the ones Togo was bringing to the innkeeper of The Log - gazing wide-eyed from one side to the other observing the farmers and waving at every passer-by, only interrupting the two of them from time to time to call their attention to an animal he saw on the road or to ask some questions.

Soon, however, Frodo got bored and wanted Bilbo to sit with him, a wish the old hobbit gladly granted his nephew. He deftly climbed over the coach box to sit down beside his nephew and intoned a song. It did not take Frodo long to learn the tunes and he quickly joined Bilbo in his singing though he only hummed the melody.

The day went by swiftly, the sun shining as warmly as it had done the day before. The wind was still blowing softly though it had grown less in the course of the day. Frodo leaned his head on Bilbo's shoulder looking bored. His right hand was stroking over the smooth surface of his carved pony while the cart joggled along the road. The child observed the carvings minutely and, after a while, turned with the same close look in his eyes to face Bilbo. Bilbo chuckled, knowing very well that his nephew was planning something. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Frodo answered, too quickly for Bilbo's liking. Besides he had lowered his eyes and a shy smile appeared on his bright face, though only for a moment. Frodo swiftly regained control of himself and looked at his uncle again, eyes enquiring. "I was just wondering."

Bilbo could see his eyes sparkle and was suddenly reminded of their conversation two days ago when Frodo asked him about the dragon. The look in the lad's eyes was all about the same now. This definitely was the look Primula had warned him of. It was Frodo's I'm-up-to-something-look, as Bilbo secretly named it for himself since he was able to interpret it. Yet, the fact that he knew about the look, did not mean he would not succumb to it. Primula had once said that Frodo's eyes were dangerous and only now did Bilbo understand what she meant with that. You could do nothing but believe those eyes and grant them every wish they ask for. For a moment Bilbo wondered how long anybody could be angry with Frodo - if one could be cross with him at all.

"I was just wondering," Frodo repeated and took his uncle's right hand into his, "if you could tell me about the troubles dad had gotten himself into when he was young."

Pleading eyes looking directly into his Bilbo found himself unable to answer anything but "Of course, I can, my boy." Frodo knew all too well how he had to use those eyes to get away with everything. Poor Primula had a hard toll to take, but fortunately she knew about it.

Frodo's eyes lit up and sparkled even brighter than before as he gave his uncle a hug and cheered loudly. A broad grin appeared on his face as he made himself comfortable beside him and waited for Bilbo to begin while the pony cart joggled on.

"Well," Bilbo began thinking about which event he could best tell his little nephew. There was a long silence in which Frodo already thought he had to shake his uncle in order to wake him from his daydreams but then he suddenly began, having found a suitable story to tell. "It was in the year 1323, your father was fifteen, I think, when he and your uncle Dudo came to stay with me and my parents at Bag End for the weekend. Your grandparents, Fosco and Ruby were invited on a birthday party of one of Ruby's Bolger-relatives and they took your aunt Dora with them because she was already old enough, being twenty-one, after all."

Frodo chuckled at the thought of his father being so young. He had difficulties imagining him as a child, but he did not interrupt Bilbo. He knew very well that it was best not disturb his uncle when he was telling a story, especially if you wanted a tale you would understand. Only once had he dared to interrupt his uncle's telling with questions only to understand nothing of what has been told because Bilbo was jumping back and forth in the happenings of the tale, leaving him entirely confused. But if one did not disturb him - well, Bilbo was not without reason the master of tales and storytelling.
"My parents were already very old by then," Bilbo went on gazing dreamily into the distance, "and as I was almost of age it was mostly my task to look after the children. We spent a wonderful day together, playing in the garden and having fun and when my mother brought Drogo and your uncle to bed in the evening I sat by the fireside with my father and we shared a smoke together, my father also drinking a glass of wine. He always had a glass of wine in the evening, preferably Old Winyards."

Frodo, of course, did not understand anything about wine, but seeing the far-away look in Bilbo's eyes he said nothing. His uncle was not only telling the story, he was living it and that delighted Frodo all the more.

"It was getting late and my mother was joining us at the hearth and we talked long together, maybe that being the reason for our late rising the next morning. Your father, being always one to wake early, was up before everyone else was and he found the bottle of Old Winyards my father had forgotten in the parlour the day before. There was only half a glass left of the wine, but Drogo was thirsty and drank all of it rather quick, I guess. Anyway, the wine was strong and didn't become your father well. When my mother woke up, not long after Drogo did, she found him lying in the parlour being all pale and miserable and yet he was giggling uncontrollably. He was sick all day - and the day after - and swore that he would never drink wine again once he was sober - a promise he had, of course, not kept though his next sip of wine was many years later."

Bilbo chuckled silently and so did Frodo. "Poor dad, I wonder if he feels the same when he has to drink mommy's sage tea?"

Bilbo laughed, ruffling Frodo's dark curls making him giggle. "I doubt it, my lad."

"We're there, Mr. Baggins," Togo called, bringing the cart to a stop.

Bilbo lifted his head to look around. They had indeed reached the crossing far swifter than he had thought they would. "Well then, that's it. Jump down, my lad," Bilbo called to Frodo, "the last miles we have to walk."

Frodo sighed and rolled his eyes at the thought of more walking - his poor sore feet had to suffer so much - but he obediently jumped down from the cart. The sun stood already deep in the west but it would still be some two hours until sunset.

They said their goodbyes and Bilbo gave Togo some coins for the ride, shouldered his pack and took Frodo by the hand. He took a deep breath looking from the cart that was slowly joggling eastwards to the road ahead of them. "On to a last walk, my lad."

Frodo looked up at Bilbo, his eyes speaking volumes. Adventures or no, he would never understand why his uncle was thus so fond of walking.





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